What's In a Kiss
by ronniekins77
Summary: He always leaves her with a kiss. Peter/Susan, non-incestuous.
1. Dictionary Games

**A/N:** I just want to say thanks so much to those of you who have added me or any of my stories to your Favorites list. I get such a smile on my face when I see that in my inbox.

I've become inspired to write Narnia fanfic again, and this is the result. It's a story about Peter and Susan, non-incestuous, and will be chaptered. I will still continue to upload all of the fanfic I've written in the past (and believe me, there's a loooot of them), but I'm enjoying working on something new. I hope you forgive me for any mistakes in the writing, and if it seems a little rusty. It's been awhile. But I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to know what you think!

Natalie

--

**What's In a Kiss**

_Chapter One - Dictionary Games_

In a person's life, there are several scattered moments when realization comes upon them, when something is finally noticed. Susan Pevensie has had several of these moments over the years, and they all have come upon her suddenly, in dawning, life-defining times.

When she was four years old and Margaret Lowenstein bit her on the arm for hoarding her toy blocks, for example, Susan realized it is better to share. When she was six and her brother Edmund's lollipop fell into the mud and he started to cry, she realized that the happiness of her siblings comes before her own, and it is for this reason that she gave him her lollipop.

But there is one particular realization that did not come upon her suddenly, but quietly over time, and if you were to ask her when it came to her, she would not be able to tell you.

She realized that she can always tell when her brother Peter is going to leave her. It is never because he says so, or because of a particular expression on his face, but because of a simple act.

He always leaves her with a kiss.

Not a soft smirk like Edmund or a fierce hug like Lucy, but with a kiss. There is a meaning behind each kiss, something that he is trying to tell her, but cannot put into words. Above all, his kisses are a reassurance that even though he is leaving, he will always come back, and he is leaving a part of himself with her until her returns.

--

The large Oxford dictionary her father gave her when she was seven is placed on her lap, open to the letter R. She closes her eyes and flips a few pages, then moves her index finger blindly down the page. Then, once her finger is in place, she opens her eyes and glances down at the word she has landed on.

Susan looks up at Peter, seated in an armchair next to her. "Rudimentary," she says.

"Rudimentary," repeats Peter, and she tries to ignore the bored note in his tone.

She nods, looking down at the word again.

"R-u-d-i-m-e-n-t-a-r-r-y?" he guesses.

"Close, but there's only one 'r'," she corrects him.

"Oh." He pauses. "I hate this game."

Susan purses her lips. "Well, it's not as if there is anything else to do," she points out, trying not to sound snooty.

Money is scarce nowadays, and there is hardly the opportunity to go out and buy things that will entertain. Susan is too old for dolls and Peter is too old for toy soldiers, so the options left to them are bleak. They've already solved all the puzzles their father used to bring home, and read all the books in their home library twice. However, she rather fancies the idea of playing a game based on a book, thus her newly invented dictionary game.

"We could play chess," he reminds her, a smile crossing his face, and there is definitely a singsong quality to his voice.

"I don't think so." Susan always loses at the game.

"Oh, come on," he says. "You know you want to."

"Do not."

"Do."

"Don't."

"Peter!" exclaims a small voice, and it is little Lucy. She's wearing a dress that is too small for her and holds a slice of apple in one hand. The juice dribbles down her pudgy chin.

"Hi, Lu," says Peter, extending his arms to her. He pulls her onto his lap and takes a tiny bite of her apple, which makes her giggle. "What can I do for you today?"

"You can play with me," says Lu, holding his large hand against her small one.

"You can play with us, Lucy," offers Susan, smiling brightly. She lifts up the dictionary so Lucy can look at it. Lucy scrunches up her face, in an annoyingly cute way that only five-year-olds can muster.

Peter grins over at Susan, while Lucy attempts to play patty-cake with him. "Su, she can't even read yet. She won't understand any of the words."

Susan straightens in her chair and peers at him through slightly narrowed eyes. "Well," she says, "it is never to early to start her education."

Peter shakes his head, as Lucy scrunches her face up again at the word 'education'. "Susan Pevensie," says Peter with mock awe, "ever so logical."

Lucy has never been a patient girl, and she yanks on Peter's hand, clearly tired of all this talking. "Peter, please!" she whines, and Susan can see that Peter's breaking. Their little sister is impossible to say no to, and Susan doesn't think Peter's ever used the word around her.

"What do you want to do, Lucy?" he asks.

"I want you to meet my new doll," she says. "We can name her, and braid her hair like Susan braids mine sometimes, and we can read to her!"

Lucy's new doll isn't really new, but Lucy does not know this. Susan, upset at the fact that her sister had hardly any toys to play with due to the country's money crisis, had gone through the attic to find her old toys, hoping to come across something Lucy would like. She had found one of her old dolls, dirty with tattered clothes, but she had brought it down anyway. It took a day to soak off the dirt and grime that had covered the doll, and three weeks to save enough money to buy fabrics for new doll clothes, but the smile on Lucy's face had been worth all her trouble.

She looks at the too-small dress Lucy is wearing now, and wonders if she should visit the attic again and find one her old dresses as well.

"Lu, I'm playing a game with Susan right now and having so much fun," Peter tells their rosy cheeked sister. "Did you ask Edmund to play with you?"

"Edmund's mean," pouts Lucy. "Please, Peter, won't you play?"

Peter turns toward Susan, his face pleading. Susan smiles in spite of herself. "Oh, alright, go," she says, waving them off. She looks down solemnly at her underappreciated dictionary as Lucy grabs Peter's hand and drags him out of the room, practically bouncing with joy.

Susan closes the dictionary with a snap and sighs to herself. Her brother's bond with Lucy is truly extraordinary. Most boys she knows would never desire to play dolls with their little sisters, but Peter will do anything to see a smile on her round face. Ever since he had locked eyes with her, he had loved her. As a result, Lucy had him wrapped around her tiny finger. Susan recognizes this and finds it endearing, even though it means Peter will always choose dolls over dictionary games.

She opens the dictionary again, shuts her eyes, and flips the pages. She has just opened her eyes, ready to look down at the word her finger has landed on when she hears someone call her name. She looks up to see Peter framed in the doorway. "You're not coming?"

"No," she says with a gentle smile. "She wants you. Go on and spend time with her."

She looks down at the word before her, 'Relinquish', and smiles. "What are you still doing here?" she asks Peter, who still has not left the room. "Go on!"

He grins and walks over to her quickly, then seizes her face with his hands, laying an enthusiastic kiss on the top of her head. She laughs at the display of affection, loving her older brother even more.

"You're truly the best, Susan," he tells her.

--

_He kisses her to say thank you._


	2. Lipstick and Nylons

**A/N: **Thanks so much to those of you who have left reviews so far on this fic! I'm glad that you enjoyed the beginning. Here is another chapter! I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave concrit and feedback! ;)

_--_

_Chapter Two - Lipstick and Nylons_

When Susan turns eleven years old, she doesn't expect much. The War has officially begun and money is not something she often sees. She blows out the candle on her small birthday cake, and makes no wish, because she has told herself that it is selfish to wish for anything in these hard times.

The presents on the table in front of her are simple, but wonderful. Lucy has given her a piece of peppermint candy, Edmund has drawn her a picture of something she can't quite make out, and Peter has given her an old switchblade. She reckons he found it in the attic somewhere. Her father gives her a pair of nylons, which she's never owned before.

Her mother, however, gives her the best gift - makeup. For years she has watched her mother stand in front of the vanity, carefully applying all sorts of powders and creams and lipsticks to her face, and she's always been very intrigued by it all.

"Thank you so much, mum!" she squeals excitedly, going through the rouge and eyeshadow, and looking at herself in the compact mirror. "Oh, it's wonderful!"

The next day it is not so wonderful, and she thinks she might be having the worst day of her life.

The girls at school, one day her friends and the next her enemies, had not been pleased by the new, prettier Susan Pevensie. Margaret Lowenstein had glared and spat out the word, "Slut", which Susan knew the meaning of as a result of her dictionary games.

She is outside, surrounded by a crowd of girls who jeer and laugh at her. She cries as they advance, tearing at the nylons they cannot afford, slapping at her made up face. Her tears run hot and angry down her cheeks, but she is paralyzed and unable to stop them.

Susan had heard about bullies before from Edmund, had seen him come home in tears and bruises. She now thinks of how stupid she had been to tell him to "rise above" and "use your words". She sees how useless that advice is now.

--

When she comes home, hours later, she feels as if she has no more tears left to cry. Her body stings where the girls left nail marks, her clothes are ripped and she can't even bear to think of what her makeup looks like.

She reaches her front door and pauses, afraid to go inside. What will her family say? Her hand rests on the doorknob and she stands there, unmoving, for about five minutes.

Then, the door opens and she jumps at the shock. "Susan!" exclaims Peter. "Where have you been?"

And then he takes in her appearance, from her tangled hair to the broken buckle on her shoe. His face pales and he wordlessly takes her hand, pulling her inside and shutting the door behind him. He leads her to the sofa, and pushes her down by the shoulders to sit.

"What happened?"

Susan lowers her eyes to the floor, not wanting to look at him. She's embarrassed enough to be in this state, to have been humiliated and abused by her cruel classmates for no reason at all. To have her brother stand over her, concerned eyes boring into her, and see her this way makes her feel nothing but shame.

"Lucy!" Peter calls, and she bounces into the room. "Get some cloths and a pan of water quickly," he orders her, and she doesn't question him or ask what's wrong. She glances at Susan worriedly, but runs off to do what she has been told.

Susan finds her voice. "Where are mother and father?" she asks softly. She doesn't want anyone else to see her like this.

"They're out at Uncle Harold's and Aunt Alberta's," he says. "But that doesn't matter. Are you alright?"

He takes her face in his hands, examining her the way a doctor would examine a patient, running his fingers softly along the bruise on her cheek and her swollen lip. "Goodness, Susan, you're bleeding."

She brings her hands up to pull his away. "I'm fine," she says, but even she has to admit that she doesn't sound convincing. His hands stay on her face despite her soundless pleading, and she drops her own back down to her lap.

Lucy comes back into the room, her dress swishing around her ankles, and kneels next to them on the ground. She hands Peter a wet cloth, which he uses to dab at Susan's face, washing away the blood and smudged makeup. She tries not to wince, but cannot help herself.

"Oh, Su," says Lucy, touching her sister's ravished nylons. "What happened? Please tell us."

Susan feels like weeping at the thought of having to tell them, to relive what had happened. She shakes her head fiercely and blinks back tears, while Peter continues to mop her face.

"What's going on?" says voice, and Susan looks up to see that Edmund has entered the room. He leans against the doorway frame of the kitchen and crosses his arms. The sour expression on his face darkens, though his eyes soften at the sight of her. He has been through this before, and is perhaps the only one who can understand what she's feeling. Seeing him gives her the courage to speak.

She tells her siblings what happened, though she is careful not to tell Lucy and Edmund that she was called a slut, as they are too young to understand what that word means. Partway through the story, her voice breaks and she begins to sob, not wanting to continue. Lucy pats her knee in a reassuring manner, and Peter brings her even closer to him, allowing her to bury her face in his chest and cry. His other arm wraps around her, too, and he rubs her back gently, whispering, "It'll be okay" in her ear.

When she composes herself, he pushes her away slightly, forcing her to lift her head. "Susan, it doesn't matter what they think. They're just jealous of you. You're so much more beautiful than any of them and they know it. And everybody is upset at the economic status of the country, you know that. They probably thought you were flaunting your new things off to them."

At Susan's look, he hastily adds, "But I know you weren't, Susan, you're not like that. You could never be like that."

"It's just a shame you didn't bring your new switchblade to school," adds Edmund. "You could have really shown them." Susan chokes on a sob at the thought.

"Edmund!" cries Lucy.

"Ed," says Peter in a half annoyed, half amused voice. "That really would not have helped matters. Don't say foolish things like that to Susan."

He turns back to her, wiping away the last of her tears, and leaves a lingering kiss on her nose.

Abruptly he stands and pulls his jacket from the hook by the door. "I'll be back later," he promises. "Lu, go and get Susan cleaned up, okay?"

Lucy nods, and then he is gone. Edmund comes over to the sofa and helps Susan to her room, and she is so touched by this unexpected gesture from her closed off, anti-affection programmed brother that she begins to cry again.

--

Peter returns three hours later, with a black eye and a slightly crooked nose.

--

_He kisses her to comfort her._


	3. Playing Mum and Dad

**A/N: **Hello, dear readers! I think at this point I should clarify something. I had my little sister read this fic and she was confused about the ages of the Pevensie siblings, and since movie!Pevensie ages don't quite add up to book!Pevensie ages, I thought I should let you know that I'm following the book ages all the way. During this chapter, Peter is 13, Susan is 12, Edmund is 10, and Lucy is 9. :)

Thanks once again for all of your kind reviews! They make my day!

_Chapter Three - Playing Mum and Dad_

Three weeks have passed since her father left the family to fight in the war. Susan quickly notices that his absence has left more than just an empty seat at the dinner table, but a void in the entire family.

The first week hadn't been so terrible, as it was easy to pretend that he was away on a business trip. Her mother had been strong and Lucy had held the hope that he would come back very soon, waiting for him by the door for hours on end.

Now, Lucy doesn't wait by the door anymore. Edmund has become nastier than ever, and her mother has completely broken down. She walks around the house as if in a trance and retires to bed early each night. Susan can hear her weep late at night and it breaks her heart.

Peter steps quickly into their father's role, taking to heart his father's parting words: "You are the man of the house now." He gets a newspaper route to help mother with payments and reads to the family by the fire after dinner. He is the first to wake each morning and the last to go to bed each night. His voice becomes more authoritative and he stands straighter, though the weight of the family is now on his shoulders.

Susan doesn't think she's ever seen someone grow up so quickly, and she takes it upon herself to lessen his burdens. She assigns herself the task of caring for their mother and helping her run the house. She cleans and cooks and kisses the scrapes on Lucy's knees when she falls.

At night, after she and Peter have tucked Lucy and Edmund into bed, they retreat to the living room. It is the only time of the day they have for themselves, and it is a time they relish. Peter sits on the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, while Susan sits across the room in the armchair by the fireplace. He reads the newspaper and she knits, a scarf for Lucy, a hat for Edmund.

Most nights, the hours pass in silence. But sometimes he tells her about what's going on in America, in Japan, and they speak of their father in hushed tones. Sometimes they speak of mother and the ongoing headache she seems to be suffering from, and if they should call a doctor. They never speak of how they still ache for their father and miss the woman their mother used to be, and how they know their role-playing routine will eventually fail.

But mostly, they are silent, and it suits them.

When they grow tired and decide to go to bed, they walk next to each other on the stairs, shoulders bumping into each other, slippered feet making scuffled sounds on the wood. They stop walking when they reach their bedrooms, across from each other in the middle of the hallway. They lean in simultaneously, and her hands touch his forearms as they kiss each other on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Susan," he always says, and it's a reminder that they'll have to continue this charade tomorrow.

"Goodnight, Peter," she says back, and it's a promise that she'll be by his side.

A realization hits her as she closes her bedroom door - she's grown up, too.

--

Soon, their mother leaves them, too. The air raids have made it impossible for them to stay in Finchley any longer, and they are sent to a Professor's house to stay for an undisclosed amount of time. Mrs. Pevensie hugs them one by one as they wait by the train station. First comes Lucy, whose lower lip trembles as she tries to restrain herself from going in for a second hug; then Edmund, who stiffens at her hug and tries not to grab her hand as it caresses his face. Next is Susan, who holds her tightly and tries not to cry; then Peter, who promises to take care of all of them.

The Professor's house is huge and vastly different from their small home in Finchley. Mrs. Macready is horrible and the Professor himself is absent, and Susan has never felt so alone.

She and Peter promise Edmund and Lucy that their time spent here will be filled with fun and games, that they will have a marvelous time. But their younger siblings see right through their false smiles, knowing that they, too, are miserable. Somehow, they are unable to uphold their parental roles, and are reduced to nothing more than a sister and brother desperately trying to fill mummy's and daddy's shoes.

--

"How about a game of chess, Edmund?" asks Peter, having found an old, dusty chess set. He sets it on the floor in front of Edmund's feet and begins to set up the pieces, smiling.

Susan, who has been reading to Lucy, looks over at the two them. She bites her lip, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Though both Peter and Edmund have an affinity for chess, they hadn't played together for quite a long time. They were often too competitive and the games always ended badly. When they used to play, Peter always won and Edmund always played the part of a sore loser. Once, Edmund had ranted about Peter being too good at everything, so perfect, and how he hated him for it. Since then, they had both resolved to only play the game with their father, never with each other.

For a moment, Edmund smiles and Susan thinks that perhaps that the two of them playing would be a good idea. It would certainly help them to bond, she tells herself.

And then, the smile on her younger brother's face changes, and it is a mocking, awful smile. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asks.

"Yes," says Peter, not picking up on Edmund's tone.

Then Edmund starts to shout, which Peter is quickly able to pick up. "Well, I don't! I hate you! I hate you! You're not dad! You're not!"

And he kicks over the chess set, sending the rooks and bishops flying, and storms out of the room.

Lucy slips out of Susan's lap and gives Peter a hug. He hugs her back, and then the two of them quietly begin to pick up the chess pieces. Susan's eyes stay on Peter, a sadness washing over her.

Peter looks up at her, having felt her gaze on him. "What?" he says.

Susan sighs. "I'm sorry that happened, Peter," she tells him. "Perhaps later the two of you can play a different game. Chess obviously wasn't a good idea."

Peter's eyes flash. "Well," he says, "_obviously_."

Susan's face flushes. "Did I say something wrong?" she asks, taken aback by the sharpness in his voice.

Peter throws the chess pieces he has collected onto the glass coffee table, and glares down at her. "I'm sorry I don't know everything. I'm sorry I'm not _perfect_."

Susan shuts the book in her lap and stands up. "I never said you were."

He changes tack. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"_When?_" Susan doesn't think she's ever been so confused.

"Just now! Why didn't you say anything to Edmund? You could have defended me."

Susan stares up at him. "I...Peter, I don't know what you want from me. He was upset. I doubt anything I could have said would have changed that. And now you're upset, too." She reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder. "I don't know what to do Peter, any better than you do."

He looks at her, and his glare grows even more intense. "What's _that_ supposed to mean, 'any better than you do?'" He pushes her hand off his shoulder.

"Oh, _oh_!" she shrieks, not quite knowing what to say. She stammers around for a bit before finding the words to say. "You're acting like a petulant child!" she yells at him, and her cheeks warm with anger. "I'm obviously not trying to insult you! Please don't lash out at me!"

"There it is again! _Obviously_!" Peter runs his hands frustratedly through his golden hair. "I must be too dense to recognize when something's obvious or not! I suppose I'm not perfect like you!" he yells back.

"STOP IT!" cries a small voice, and they both look down at Lucy. Tears are streaming down her face and her shoulders shake with her tiny sobs.

Susan exchanges a guilty look with Peter and sweeps Lucy into her arms, the argument losing importance in the presence of her sister's tears. She had completely forgotten that Lucy was in the room. She holds her until her shoulders stop shaking. "Oh, Lucy, we're so sorry. We don't mean to yell. Are you alright, sweet one?"

Lucy sniffs and nods, then runs into Peter's arms. He reassures her as well. "I was just upset, that's all. Do you forgive me, Lu?" Her small head bobs up and down, and Peter pokes her nose. "Good. Now do you mind if I talk with Susan alone?"

Lucy looks up at Susan worriedly. "It's alright, dear. Go on."

Lucy leaves them, and the air between them becomes awkward and tense. Susan doesn't know what to say and so she says nothing, waiting for Peter to speak. After all, she reasons, it was Peter who started this argument. He should be the one to apologize first.

But Peter doesn't apologize. Instead, he reaches behind him and picks up the chessboard. "Play with me?" he pleads softly, and though Susan despises the game, she recognizes this as a peace offering.

--

When he wins, she smiles; though her heart is still heavy with the words from their altercation.

"Peter," she starts timidly. "I'm sorry if you think that I expect you to be perfect. I don't... and that's not an insult," she adds hurriedly. "I think you're wonderful with Ed and Lu. I just think Ed really misses father. It has nothing to do with you."

He smiles, too. "I know," he says, sighing. "He just needs time."

"And Peter?" She reaches across the table and places her hand over his, knowing he won't shrug it away now. "I'm sorry if you expect _me_ to be perfect. I'm not. If you think that way, I'll only disappoint you. I wouldn't want that."

Peter lowers his eyes embarrasedly. "I guess I just got used to leaning on you, Su."

"I got used to it, too," she admits. "Leaning on you, that is. Not myself."

They laugh, and it feels to good to finally _laugh_ at something. In that moment, she feels like a child again, and she treasures the moment, not wanting it to fade away.

That night, they tuck in Edmund and Lucy and go to the living room. They speak of plans for tomorrow (cricket if it doesn't rain and hide-and-seek if it does), and tell immature jokes they've heard at school, delighting in each other's company and the freedom in knowing they don't have to be adults around each other.

And as they head up to bed, they stop in the middle of the hallway. They lean in, and Susan's hands rest on Peter's forearms as they kiss each other on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Peter," she says, smiling.

"Goodnight, Susan," he says, and he gives her an extra kiss before entering his room.

--

_He kisses her because they're a team._


	4. Of Wardrobes and Wolves

**A/N: **This chapter chronicles a lot of the events in LWW. Because I'm still torn between which version I like better - book or movie - this is a bit of a combination of the two. Some exchanges are straight from the book, others straight from the movie, and others are a mixture between the two. I hope nothing's too confusing. Enjoy!

--

_Chapter Four - Of Wardrobes and Wolves_

Susan had never been the brave one. She was always the smart one, the pretty one, the mannerly one, but never had she been called brave.

She can remember the first time she ever heard the word. She was quite young and playing a game of hide and seek with Peter. Determined to win this time, she hid herself in a place where she knew Peter would not look - in their mother's wardrobe. Being as young as she was, her sensibility had not yet developed, and as such she did not know that you should never, never shut yourself in a wardrobe.

Being surrounded by her mother's long, fancy dresses did not give her any comfort when she realized that somehow she had locked herself in. She banged on the wood and was scared in the darkness, crying for Peter.

It took her brother ages to find her and when he did, she spilled out from the wardrobe sobbing. He awkwardly patted her on the head (and as Susan's sensibility had not yet developed, neither had Peter's sensitivity) and asked her please to stop crying.

"Just be brave, Su," he said, and though she had no idea what the word meant, she dried her eyes and resolved to look it up in the dictionary.

The next time she heard the word was when Edmund fell ill at the age of seven. The doctor, and old man with a long black mustache, told them that he might die. His grave face struck an awful note in her heart and Susan thought she might faint from how scared she was. Edmund pressed on through his sickness, though, and when he wasn't pale and shaking anymore, the doctor clapped him on the back and said, "Why, I've never seen such a strong fellow. You're a brave one, lad."

The word was used almost every week when it came to her youngest sibling, Lucy, who had a spirit for adventure and mischief. Always getting herself into something exciting and unknowingly dangerous, she had a habit for surprising them all with her valiance.

Once, mother and father had taken them all to the park, and the second eyes were not on Lucy, the young girl climbed the tallest tree she could find. Susan remembers how wide her smile was when they saw her up in the tree ("Hi!" she proudly said, waving down at them) and how quickly that smile vanished when it dawned on her that she didn't know how to get down. Father had gone to the tree and talked to her soothingly, encouraging her to climb down aways and then jump into his arms. "I'll catch you, darling," he'd said.

Lucy had needed no further convincing and did exactly as she was told, trusting that her father would indeed catch her.

Afterwards, mother went on and on about how brave her little Lucy was, how not a trace of fear had been present in her round eyes. Susan stood back from the circle her family made around her sister, her hands shaking with relief, her heart still pounding with fright.

--

When she enters wintery wood of Narnia, she feels a bit of fear swelling in her gut. This new world is beautiful and enchanting, but the fact that other worlds even exist unsettles her a bit. She wants to go back into the wardrobe nearly the moment she stumbles out of it.

Nevertheless, she ventures out with her siblings. Lucy decides she wants to go visit her friend, who she says is a faun, and they follow her as she leads the way to his home. As they walk through the thick blanket of snow, Susan can't help the smile that dances across her lips. She has always liked the winter. She giggles as Peter trips himself up and falls down laughing, then drops next to him to make snow angels. Lucy attempts to engage Edmund in the fun by throwing a snowball at him, and he cracks a tiny, barely-there smile.

Laying there, laughing and shivering, all Susan can think about is how happy her family is. She thinks it's the first time she's heard Peter laugh since their father was sent away. For this moment, the four of them are in a world where there is no War, no pain, no suffering. It seems simply perfect.

They reach the vandalized home of the faun Tumnus (or was it Thomas?) and Susan thinks she might have been wrong. Lucy's dear new friend has been accused of treason against the Queen of Narnia by fraternizing with humans. Susan bites her lip when Peter reads this last part of the letter - apparently humans aren't welcome in this country. "I don't know that I'm going to like this place after all," she says.

Peter turns to Lucy and asks who this Queen is, and Lucy explains that she's really not a Queen at all, but a horrible witch. Susan opens her mouth to scold her for her language, but then she puts a hand over her heart. Lu means a _real_ witch.

"I - I wonder if there's any point in going on," Susan says, her heart racing. "I mean, it doesn't seem particularly safe here and it looks as if it won't be much fun either. And it's getting colder every minute, and we've brought nothing to eat. What about just going home?"

Lucy implores her that they need to save Mr. Tumnus/Thomas, that it is her fault he's been arrested. Edmund argues that they can do nothing, reiterating Susan's earlier point about the lack of food. Peter angrily tells him to shut up, and turns to her. "What do you think, Susan?" he asks.

She wants to agree with Edmund, to say that they need to go back home, but the look on Lucy's face stops her. Wishing that she could say no to her sister, just once, she sighs. "I've a horrid feeling that Lu is right," she says, and Lucy lips turn slightly upwards. Susan sighs again, more heavily this time. "I don't want to go a step further and wish we'd never come. But I think we must try to do something for Mr. Whatever-his-name is - I mean the faun."

"That's what I feel, too," says Peter.

Susan promises herself to be brave, no matter what they face.

--

There are talking beavers here and a prophecy and apparently a King who happens to be a Lion, and it's too much to wrap her head around. Rescuing Mr. Tumnus is far from her thoughts now. This isn't fun for her anymore - this is plain foolishness - and all she wants to do is get back to the Professor's house and take a warm bath.

"Thanks for your hospitality," she informs the beavers, standing up from the table. She silently hopes that Peter does the same, that he's had enough of this like she has. When he does, she quickly smiles with relief.

And then Edmund goes missing.

Her mind is plagued with thoughts of her little brother and she can't help but think that none of this would have happened if they had never come to this place. Her nerves are at their breaking point and in a shaking voice she unfairly accuses Peter, saying it is his fault they are here and he is the reason why Ed's run off. His glare is pained and angry, and he yells back. Then Lucy breaks in, making them see that their fighting isn't going to help Edmund.

Mr. Beaver says that Aslan is the only one who can help their brother now and Susan tries to fight the anxiety she has over meeting the Lion. She's scared of him, but she's even more scared about the White Witch and what will happen to Ed. She wishes for something to calm her, to ease her fears, and her silent prayer is answered the next morning.

Father Christmas finds them and pulls a large bag out of his sleigh, a happy smile on his face. Lucy goes to him first and he looks her directly in the eye, holding up a tiny, crystal bottle. "The juice of the fireflower. One drop will cure any injury. And though I hope you never have to use it..." He gives her a small dagger and Susan fights back the urge to tug such a dangerous item from her sister's hands.

"Thank you, sir," says Lucy. "I think I could be brave enough."

"I'm sure you could, but battles are ugly affairs." He gives her an encouraging smile and pulls other items from his bag, calling to Susan.

She steps forward hesitantly and accepts from him a quiver and arrows. "Trust in this bow and it will not easily miss," he tells her, his voice emphasizing the word 'trust'.

She stares at him, feeling confused and frightened all at once. "What happened to 'battles are ugly affairs'?"

He chuckles heartily. "Though you don't seem to have a problem making yourself heard, blow on this and wherever you are, help will come." He holds out a beautifully crafted horn and Susan looks upon it with awe, and a calming comes over her, a feeling that everything will be okay.

Father Christmas turns to Peter last and hands him a shield and a sword. Susan watches as Peter pulls the sword from its sheath, how his eyes rove down the metal blade with determined acceptance. The expression on his face has never been more brave, more noble, and she no longer feels, but _knows_ that everything will be okay.

--

They stand before the great Lion, and Susan cannot look at him. She trembles at the sight of his fierce face, his great eyes, and she can feel that Peter and Lucy, too, are trembling.

"Go on," whispers Mr. Beaver.

"No," says Peter, just as quietly. "You first."

"No, Sons of Adam before animals," insists Mr. Beaver.

"Susan," Peter whispers. "What about you? Ladies first."

She gives him an anxious stare and shakes her head. "No, you're the eldest."

They go on like this for awhile, awkwardly and stubbornly, neither of them wanting to give in. Finally Peter draws his magnificent sword and raised it to salute, telling them, "Come on. Pull yourselves together." He steps forward toward the Lion and says, "We have come - Aslan."

Just the sound of the Lion's name makes Susan tremble even more, but she feels less awkward now. They all begin to talk and Aslan seeks an explanation for Edmund's betrayal.

They all fall silent until Peter takes it upon himself to do the speaking. "It was my fault," he says, no longer looking brave but sad. "I was angry with him and I think that helped him to go wrong. I was too hard on him."

Susan's heart flutters with guilt at accusing Peter for Edmund's actions, and she wants so badly to apologize, to assure him that the blame is not fully is. But this is not the time or the place for verbal apologies. Instead, she runs a hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder and squeezes it gently. He glances down at her with understanding as she bravely turns to Aslan.

"We all were," she says, looking the Lion directly in the eyes.

--

"You look like Mum," says Lucy in a soft voice, touching the fabric of Susan's green dress.

"Mum hasn't had a dress like this since before the War," Susan remarks, and it's not the first time since being in this new land that she's thought about her mother.

Now she thinks of her all dressed to go out with their father for a night on the town, her black hair hanging in curls around her neck. She sees her working tirelessly to fashion a new pair of mittens for Lucy, even though she's worked all day. She sees her soaking her blistered, tired feet in a tub of hot water while helping Peter with his studies.

She misses her.

"We should bring her one back!" says Lucy excitedly. "A whole _trunk_ full!"

"If we ever get back," says Susan, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice.

_If Mum knew what we were doing_, is the continuous thought that's run throughout her mind the entire time they've been here. What would her mum say if she knew they had talked to a terrifying and beautiful Lion? What would she say if she knew that they had almost lost Lucy to the river? What would she say if she knew Edmund had been taken by the White Witch?

She resolves to get back home as soon as possible. They'll find Ed and then they'll all go back to the wardrobe, back to the Professor's. Only, she thinks, her mother won't be there either.

She looks down at Lucy, whose eyes are focused on the grass now. Susan feels awful for taking away her excitement and she forces a soft smile. "I'm sorry I'm like that."

Lucy looks back up at her and Susan feels that she understands. Something about this place has given Lucy a certain intuitiveness about others and it amazes Susan how her sister has changed in just a few short days. Or perhaps Lucy had changed a long while ago and she's only noticed it now. She's been so busy worrying for her sister that she hasn't really _seen_ her.

"We used to have fun together, didn't we?" Susan continues. _Before I started acting like your mother. Before I started trying to be smart all the time._

"Yes," says Lucy, and then she giggles. "Before you got boring!"

Well, that is certainly another way to put it.

"Oh, really?" she says with a mischievious grin, and she splashes her sister with water from the brook. Lucy squeals and splashes her back, and then they are both laughing and wiping the water from their eyes.

Susan rushes to get a towel, Lucy following behind her. And then there is a wolf, grey and ferocious, its fur sticking out dangerously, it's yellow eyes purging into her soul. He growls and its the ugliest sound Susan's ever heard. She and Lucy give small shrieks of fear as another wolf appears.

"Please don't try to run," says the first wolf, "We're tired and we prefer to kill you quickly." The second wolf circles around them, its teeth bared and dripping with saliva.

Susan looks over at Lucy, full of fear, and her sister's eyes go to the nearby pavilon. Susan's horn hangs there and she quickly nods at Lucy.

With a strangled yell, she throws the towel into the face of the wolf in front of her. "Go, Lucy!" she screams, meaning for her run to the nearest tree and climb, but Lucy runs in completely the opposite direction; Susan runs for her horn.

While the first wolf rolls around to remove the towel from his face, the second wolf looks between Susan and Lucy, torn as to which one he should go after. He advances toward Susan as she blows hard into her horn, and nips at her feet as she runs toward the tree.

Both wolves are chasing after her now, growling ferociously, and when Susan reaches the tree she jumps as high as she can, her arms circling around a large branch. Her hands scrape against the bark clumsily as she tries to get a good grip and pull herself up. She manages to climb up to another, higher, branch in the tree and she holds on for dear life.

She's in an awkward position, one leg wrapped around the second branch, the other dangling down so that her foot is only an inch away from the snapping teeth. She tells herself to go higher, to pull up her other leg, but she can't. She's not strong enough.

Susan struggles to keep clinging to the branch, but she feels as if every part of her body is on fire. Terror throbs through her every muscle, white dots pierce her vision, and her hands sting with cuts and blood.

_Help, help, help_, she pleads silently, feeling violently sick. She knows her body won't be able to handle this for much longer, that her grip will loosen and she'll fall to her death. Somewhere inside of her, she's comforted by the fact that Lucy is not here, that she's run away.

She closes her eyes and bites down on her lip, hard. One of her hands slips just so...one of the wolves bites her ankle, but she doesn't have the energy to even cry out...

Susan knows she's going to die, and she's glad at least that she'll die bravely.

And then she hears Peter's voice. "Susan! Susan!" he cries, rushing toward her. She wants to yell at him to stay away, but he comes anyway, a small army of creatures behind him. His sword is clasped awkwardly in his hand. The wolves turn to him now, taunting and howling at him, and she knows she's going to faint.

Then she hears another growl, but it is the growl of a Lion, and a horrible squeal comes from one of the wolves. The sound of its pain and defeat gives Susan the strength to finally pull her other leg up. She wraps her arms around the tree's trunk, eyes still closed, tears streaking down her face. Aslan tells the other creatures to slay their weapons, that this is Peter's battle, and Susan chokes on a sob. She doesn't want him to be killed for her.

Over the sounds of her sobbing, she can't hear the wolf attack Peter, nor the sound of her brother's blade going through the brute's heart. She doesn't hear Peter wrestling with the wolf, nor the horrible cracking that sounds when its teeth knock against his forehead. She doesn't hear the wolf's final cry of pain, nor Peter's frantic breathing when he sees that the monster is dead.

"Susan?" says Peter after a few moments, his voice quaking. "Susan, it's alright. I've slayed the wolf."

There is a proud tremor in his voice, and Susan admires him for being so brave. She wants to hug him and thank him for rescuing her, but she finds that she cannot move. How dearly she wants to come down from this tree, but she _can't_. Her body is stiff and shocked, still paralyzed with fear, and her ankle burns with pain. Her entire body convulses.

"Susan, please," begs Peter. "You have me scared to death. Everything's okay."

Her eyes open. Below her stands Peter, blue eyes bright, his face glistening with sweat. Wordlessly, he beckons for her to come down from the tree, holding out a bloody hand to her. It shakes.

She thinks of Lucy in the tree, of Edmund when he was ill, and she tries to be brave like them.

Slowly, Susan begins to climb down. She is able to reach the first large branch of the tree, but then her ankle weakens and she falls the rest of the way down. Peter catches her, but he too is weak, and they fall backwards onto the grass. The feeling that she is going to pass out is overwhelming, but the relieved look in her brother's eyes is even more overwhelming. She throws her arms wildly around him.

He holds her tightly and buries his face in the crook of her neck. Her heart beats furiously against her chest and she can feel his do the same. They're both shaking from head to toe, relief and adrenaline still pumping through them. Tears flow freely down her cheeks and she can feel his own tears on her skin. Her hands grip at his sweat soaked golden hair. Then she presses kisses on his face as his own lips seek out her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. She's aware that they're both whispering nonsensical things to each other now, voices unnaturally high pitched, and they're making quite a scene. For once she doesn't care about appearances.

"You were so brave, Su," he says against her hair and she cries even harder, holding him closer and kissing his face again.

But in Narnia no one thinks any the worse of you for that.

--

After awhile they pull themselves together, and then she and Lucy watch as Aslan taps Peter's shoulders with the flat of his sword. "Rise up, Sir Peter Wolf's-Bane," he says, and Peter turns to his sisters, smiling.

Susan smiles; her brother is a Knight now.

He'd always been one to her.

--

Susan uses the light of the fire to examine the deep gash on Peter's forehead and the places on his forearms that the wolf had managed to attack. He wraps her cut hands in bandages and winces at the sight of her gnashed ankle.

As they head off to their seperate tents later that night, she kisses his forehead the way her mother used to kiss her bruises and scrapes. He kisses the palm of her hand where her cuts used to be and begins to walk away from her when he stops and turns back.

"Don't wander off alright?" he says. "I can't lose you, too."

It's his indirect way of talking about Edmund, but she knows he doesn't want to press the conversation further. She hopes that they find him soon.

Susan nods and begins to limp away to her tent, but then she stops as well. She calls out his name and he turns around, and his eyes shine at her even in the darkness. When she speaks, her voice is quiet but still carries across the night. "Thank you."

Peter grins.

--

_He kisses her so she knows that he'll always keep her safe._


	5. The Heart of a Queen

**A/N: **This chap is longer than some of the earlier ones, but I think the rest of them will probably be this length, or somewhere around it. I've pretty much planned out this fic, so you can expect many more chapters to come! Thanks to everyone who gave feedback last chapter - I really can't stress enough how much I appreciate it. :D

This chapter also spans quite a bit of time. The first section picks up where we left off, with Susan at 12 years old. But later on it is indicated that two years have gone by, so she's 14.

Also, I feel the need to say that this is _not_ an incest fic. I keep receiving reviews on this site and others about this, but I can assure you, the Peter/Susan interaction is purely innocent. I've written the 'cesty fic before, but this will not become 'cesty at all. Please, please keep this in mind. Thank you. :)

--

_Chapter Five - The Heart of a Queen_

She becomes a Queen.

It happens so fast - Lucy discovering Narnia, Edmund's betrayal, Aslan sacrificing himself - that she barely has time to think. Her nerves are on edge the entire time, caught between worrying for her siblings and trying to reason her way through this new world, a world that shouldn't be real.

The night before her coronation, she stands in her chambers (_her_ chambers, she can hardly believe it), examining her appearance. The blue gown she wears is the most gorgeous thing she has ever worn; she runs her hands down the fabric, her fingers delighting in the soft feel. Dark blue robes drape over her small shoulders, held in place by a gold brooch. Her black hair is curled and styled elegantly, and smells of some type of flower that she'd never smelled in Finchley.

She swallows hard, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. _Queens aren't supposed to be nervous_, she thinks, and yet there is a part of her that argues that she is not a Queen, not really. She's twelve-years-old and there's no such thing as twelve-year-old Queens. Perhaps she's really just caught up in some imaginary game, something that Lucy invented to try to escape boredom at the Professor's house.

Susan imagines what her mother would say. She can see the woman in her mind's eye, laughing at this foolishness. "Oh, Susan, you're still such a child," she says, holding her close, amused at her daughter's vivid imagination.

Yet Susan has never had a vivid imagination. Her world is that of books and logic, of things she can touch and see. She can _touch_ this fabric and _see_ her reflection in the mirror, so this cannot all be a fantasy. In her fantasies, her freckles are absent. Now, they stand out on her cheekbones and across her nose.

More than that, if this was her fantasy, Edmund wouldn't have almost died. Susan would never dream of the white pain on his face, or the way his bloody fingers shook. She'd never dream of the hole in his side where he'd been stabbed a Witch's sword, nor of his ragged, dying breaths. In her dreams, she wouldn't have cried over his body, fearing that his eyes would be closed forever. Her heart was too gentle for those kinds of fantasies.

Yes, she tells herself, smoothing her gown unnecessarily, this is very, very real.

--

She settles into life as a Queen; dinners served on silver plates, guards standing stiffly in the halls, visitors from other lands, and the never-ending, celebratory balls.

She watches her siblings grow, and the transformation Narnia has had on them is extraordinary. All traces of the kids from Finchley is gone from their faces as they stand tall and firm, proving themselves capable of being leaders.

Lucy proves herself to be quite the negotiator, bringing peace between all sorts of creatures and between foreign countries. No one can refuse her infectious smile and spirit. Edmund becomes known for his fair treatment of every person and every problem, and is always the best candidate to give advice. His dueling skills are also established as the stuff of legends.

And Peter is truly in his element. Full of love and compassion for his kingdom, he puts the Narnians before himself. His battle strategies are renowned and his good heart is apparent to anyone who looks upon him.

Susan feels lost among the titles of Valiant, Just, and Magnificent, and wonders what it means to be Gentle. She has no idea why Aslan thought that she, of all people, is worthy of a throne.

--

Edmund and Lucy skip a breakfast that Susan has helped the servants prepare, and walk past her so engrossed in conversation that they forget to say goodbye.

She follows them out to the stables and watches as they pack their horses in a rush. "What on earth is going on?" she asks them, and they turn to her as one, the expressions on their faces telling her that they hadn't even noticed her presence.

"Oh, sorry Susan!" says Lucy, giving her a fleeting hug. "We must go quickly, you see." And she continues to pack her horse.

"I don't see," says Susan, looking next to Edmund. Her brother has always hated feeling left out or ignored, so she hopes that at least he will explain something to her.

Edmund glances at her as he finishes his packing and goes to help Lucy with hers. "There's this horrible argument going on between the beavers and the badgers. The trees came to Lucy and told her it's quite serious and that someone may soon wind up hurt. We weren't told what exactly this is about, but we're going to put an end to it."

Susan picks up the saddle for her own horse and says, "Well, then I'll go with you."

Edmund and Lucy exchange a look, and Lucy turns to Susan while Edmund continues to pack her horse; Susan notices that he is decidedly not looking at her. "I know you want to help," Lucy tells her kindly, patting her hand consolingly, "but Ed and I aren't going to want to stop. We know that you like to rest a lot when you ride, but there really is no time. It's better that we go on without you, dear."

Susan sets her saddle back down and nods acceptingly. "Alright then, go. You're right, another person would probably slow you down."

Lucy kisses her and then goes over to Edmund. He takes her hand and lifts her so she can better get onto her horse (for she still is not quite tall enough to do it on her own), and then he mounts Philip.

"We're truly sorry to miss that breakfast you prepared, Su," he says, and his face surely is regretful. "I'm sure it tastes lovely."

"Well, I can bring out some biscuits for you," Susan offers, desperate to be useful. "I can be back in five minutes."

"Susan, there really is no time," says Lucy.

"Oh." She smiles. "Give my best to both the beavers and the badgers. I do hope whatever disagreement lies between them can be done away with."

They smile back and Ed says, "Sure hope so, Su."

Then they are gone.

--

"Your majesty?" says a voice, and Susan gives a half-smile as she looks down at a familiar face.

"Hello, Mr. Beaver," she says, beckoning for the animal to join her where she sits, on a stone bench in the gardens. In her hands is a half-finished wreath for Lucy. Her sister loves the bright yellow and purple flowers that seem to grow only in Narnia, and had gone on and on about making a wreath for her bedroom a few days ago. Susan has taken it upon herself to make the wreath for the younger girl, simply because she has the patience to make one. Lucy lacks the patience to sit still and weave the flowers together, preferring to choose activities that will allow her to run around and _move_.

Mr. Beaver climbs up the side of the bench to sit next to Susan, and gives her a furry smile.

"I heard of a disagreement between the beavers and badgers," says Susan. "Is everything quite alright?"

Mr. Beaver gives a tiny huff and then his smile comes back again. "It's all settled now, dear. Your majesties King Edmund and Queen Lucy helped a great deal."

Susan gives a short nod and plucks another flower from its stem to add to the wreath. "That's wonderful news."

"Yes, it is." Mr. Beaver pauses. "Highness, are you feeling well? You seem a bit under the weather."

Susan shakes her head. "I feel fine," she says.

"Yes?" prods Mr. Beaver, keen eyes focused on Susan's face. "I think I know you well enough to know when something's upset you."

Susan's cheeks flare a little at the scrutiny and she suddenly feels defensive. She's gone this long without anyone noticing how upset she's been and it's suited her. Susan has always been one to keep emotions inside, and she's always been fairly good at it. Once, her grandmother told her that emotion shown from a lady should be limited; a lady would never want to call too much attention to herself, or upset others with her troubles.

"Your majesty?" continues Mr. Beaver.

She doesn't answer, but continues to thread flowers onto the wreath. She knows that Mr. Beaver only has good intentions and that he cares very much for what's bothering her, but Susan doesn't really wish to speak with him. She doubts that Mr. Beaver would be able to understand her feelings, as he's never been asked to be a Queen, or a King for that matter.

Susan would much rather wish to talk with Lucy or Edmund or Peter about her insecurities, but she knows they won't understand either. It is perhaps this thought, that she cannot speak to her siblings about what she's going through, that bothers her most.

"Mr. Beaver," she says in what she knows is an artificially sweet tone, "I should think that the matters of a Queen don't concern you."

Mr. Beaver looks flustered for a moment, his tiny mouth open to form an 'o', and then he takes a step back, looking deeply ashamed and a little hurt. "I apologize if I offended you, my Queen," he says in a shaky voice.

He begins to crawl down the bench, defeated tail dragging behind him, and Susan tosses aside the wreath and buries her head in her hands. "Oh, I am simply _horrid_ at this!" she exclaims, and Mr. Beaver turns around and looks up at her, blinking slowly.

She lifts her head after awhile, trying to appear as regal as possible, but this is made difficult by the tearstains on her face. "I apologize, Mr. Beaver. I shouldn't have said such a thing. I am just so bad at this. My remark wasn't very queenly, was it? This is all very much to take in. I don't deserve the crown that sits on my head, treating you that way. I don't deserve it at all, actually."

Mr. Beaver rushes back up the bench and takes Susan's small, delicate hand in his. "Oh, but your majesty. It was all in the prophecy! Two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve - "

"I know," whispers Susan. "It was destiny, I suppose. I just don't understand why destiny chose me."

Mr. Beaver's padded paw pats her hand. "Why, it's because you're beautiful."

Susan withdraws her hand and sighs.

--

As she brushes her hair, she thinks of her mother. The brush makes slow strokes down her long hair as she tries to picture her mother's face. But she struggles to remember if her mother's hair was dark like Edmund's or fair like Peter's. She tries to hear the sound of her mother's voice, the consoling tone she used whenever one of them was distressed.

Susan spends an hour trying to put together the pieces of her mother, but is unable to finish the puzzle. It makes her quite sad and tears roll down her face. She wipes them away and tries to remember other things about her old world; visits to the cinema, the sound of the radio, school, her friends. They flash before her eyes and she misses them.

Susan misses herself, too. In England, she was useful. In England, she was needed. Here, she is nothing.

Not for the first time, she wishes she could go home.

--

Susan walks across the fields behind the castle, her raven hair flying freely about her face, her bow clutched in her hands. Her gait is quick and determined, and the light dress she wears swishes fiercely around her legs. A brown sack is slung over her shoulder, bouncing against the side of her thigh as she breaks out into a run. Away from the castle, away from the pressure. She needs to be alone, unburdened by servants doing everything for her or the weighty talk of Narnian affairs. She needs to prove to herself that she is worthy.

When Susan reaches the edge of the fields where the wood begins, she stops running. Her eyes rove over the different trees and she settles on a tall oak; a few of its branches are parallel to the grass, four feet above the ground. She approaches the tree, slightly out of breath from her speedy sprint, and opens her brown sack.

Inside is several bright red apples, freshly picked by Peter and Lucy that morning. Peter had asked her if she wouldn't mind taking them down to the kitchens, as he had lots of papers on his desk that needed tending to. Susan requested to use a few of the apples for target practice and Peter shrugged and gave his blessing.

She arranges the apples in row along the jutting branch of the tree, then retreats a few yards, squinting at them in the distance. Satisfied, she reaches for an arrow and holds it against the grip of her bow, training her eyes to the first apple in the row.

As she zeroes in on the fruit, she can't help but think that archery seems to be the only thing she's good at it here. She hasn't had to use her bow and arrow much - just once, on a dwarf that was about to attack Edmund as he lay dying on the battlefield - but she practiced rather a lot. She can remember the first time she shot an arrow, nearly two years ago. It had hit the target, but not perfectly, and she had been a bit disappointed in herself. But over time, she's grown a lot more accurate. It's the one thing she can do that her siblings can't; all three of them have horrible aim.

"Perhaps it's because you won't let me use your bow," Edmund had said grumpily when he had practiced for several hours and missed the target each time. He held up his own bow sadly. "Mine isn't very well _magical_, now is it?"

At the time, Susan had rolled her eyes, amused. "Well, I don't see why I should let you use it," she said, holding up her own bow, "After all, you don't ask Lucy for her cordial or Peter for his sword, do you?"

Now, the word 'magical' repeats in her mind, and she hears it in Edmund's voice. She knows that he had been right, that the reason her arrows hit targets with such skill is because of its magic. It has nothing to do with her.

This awareness causes her fingers to shake as she pulls back the string and releases the arrow.

She misses.

--

Peter finds Susan in the armory room at 3:00 in the morning, wearing white nightrobes and slippers, her hands ranging over the swords hanging from the walls. She doesn't notice him come in, nor does she see the incredibly confused expression on his face as he glimpses her. Susan has never had a keen interest in weaponry, her own bow excluded; she once said that her heart ached to think of battle and death.

"Susan, what in Aslan's name are you doing?" asks Peter suddenly, and Susan turns around quickly, clutching her chest in fright.

"Goodness, Peter," she says, breathing heavily, "you frightened me."

Peter stands on the opposite side of the room, dressed fully in his royal clothing, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword. He gives her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. Why are you here?"

Defensively, she shoots back, "Why are _you_ here?"

Peter chuckles lightly. "I couldn't sleep."

Susan crosses her arms across her chest. "Me neither."

"Do you want to talk - "

"No."

Peter holds up his hands in defense. "A walk then?"

"I'm dressed improperly."

He unbuttons his tunic, hands it to her. She places it on over her robes and kicks off her slippers.

"The beach," says Peter knowingly, kneeling down to unlace his boots.

--

They walk along the shore, bare feet moving in sync through the sand. The beach outside Cair Paravel remains the most beautiful part of the land, in Susan's opinion, and it is a place where she truly feels free.

Peter doesn't speak, doesn't ask her why she was in the armory room or why she's been acting rather queer lately. This is something she's always relied on him for - Edmund would have been commenting on how weird she's behaving and Lucy would beg to know what was wrong. But Peter just lets her be, knowing that she'll reveal her mind to him if she wants to.

Now that he's here with her, that's all she wants to do. Susan doesn't for one second believe that he'll understand what she's going through, but he's her older brother. And she really can't keep these feelings inside of her, not anymore.

"I was in the armory room because I wanted to feel a sword in my hands," she says finally, breaking the silence. "I wanted to feel as you do. That you're here for a reason. That you're worthy."

She continues to talk, the words spilling easily from her lips. She's reminded of how easy it is to talk to Peter about her troubles, about anything, and she resolves never to keep something from him again.

When Susan finishes her monologue, Peter turns and looks at her. She squints at him through the blackness, trying to make out the features on his face, trying to read his expression. The moon in the sky is hidden by clouds, making it hard to see. The only thing that she can make out is the golden crown on his head, which sparkles.

He takes her hand. "Susan," he says, "oh, Susan. You were born to be a Queen, don't you see?"

"No," she replies skeptically, "I don't."

"You're the most logical person I know," he says admirably. "You think through absolutely everything. You're brilliantly smart. You have all the qualities you don't think you have, and more. You would do anything for your people, anything. And they love you - "

"What do they love? My beauty? Even Edmund and Lucy think I'm useless."

"Oh, rubbish! Edmund and Lucy love you and look up to you."

"Mr. Beaver said I was beautiful, as if the way I look is all that matters."

"That's rubbish, too. He said you were beautiful, yes, but I doubt he was referring to just your looks. Though you are beautiful, it's your heart that matters. And you, dear sister, have a beautiful heart. That's what Mr. Beaver meant, I'm sure." He pauses, and her eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that she can see his bemused expression. "If he was referring to just your outer beauty, why, I'll turn him into a hat. And then offer it to you as a gift."

Susan can't help but smile at that. Peter's thumbs brush across her knuckles as he continues his dialogue. "Even so, it doesn't matter what people say, either. Your heart _is_ beautiful. It's a sacrificial heart, I'm certain."

"Sacrificial?" she says, confused.

"Oh, you know what 'sacrificial' means, you silly," says Peter. "Back home you would give your lunch to anyone without one, no second thoughts. Here, you always accompany Lucy when she needs to use her cordial on someone, even though I know you hate to see others in pain. You run this castle and put up with the maids and the linens while Ed and I (and sometimes Lucy) do things that are sometimes more exciting. And you're the best archer Narnia has seen, everyone knows that. I know that you'd kill in battle, not out of want, but because you care so much for this land and its people. If that isn't the mark of a Queen, I don't know what is."

Susan takes her hand out of his and presses it morosely against her forehead. "But my bow has failed me. My arrows don't strike anymore. I don't know why, for it _is_ magical. Perhaps I'm not really meant to have it."

"You are meant to have it," says Peter sharply. "Father Christmas gave it to you, no one else."

"But I miss. Why do I miss?"

"Do you trust?"

Susan furrows her brow. "What?"

"Do you trust in the bow?"

"Of course I do! It's magical! How could I _not_?"

"Well, then perhaps you miss because you do not trust in yourself," says Peter sensibly.

The logic of his words leaves Susan momentarily speechless as she realizes that her brother is absolutely right. Peter takes this moment to take hold of her hand again.

"It doesn't matter how many of us believe and trust in you," speaks Peter boldly. "What matters is your belief and trust in yourself. You are a Queen, Susan, and I know that if you accept yourself, you'll be a magnificent one. And the rest of us - Lu, Ed, myself - we wouldn't be anything without you. Please see that."

Susan has never seen Peter look so earnest as he does now, holding her hand with both of his, pressing them against his heart ardently. His blue eyes shine at her with encouragement and devotion, and she believes. Believes in what he's saying and in herself, and she lets out a breath of relief and thanks. A small smile makes its way across her face and Peter's face breaks its seriousness as he smiles, too.

They resume walking, and Susan feels different somehow. She feels worthy, and it's something she's never felt before.

She and Peter continue to talk, but of nothing that she will remember later. All she will remember is Peter's steadfastness in her.

Their walk is interrupted after a few hours have passed, when the sun has risen in the sky and Oreius finds them on the beach. He calls Peter to the castle to discuss the arrangements for a visit from the King of Archenland. Peter reluctantly looks over at Susan and she sees that he doesn't want to leave her, but she shakes her head and sacrifices his company because she knows it is the right thing to do. He has more important things to do than walk along the beach with his sister.

"Always remember what I've said, Queen," he tells her, and she nods, her heart swelling with love at his emphasis of her title.

"I will, High King," she responds softly.

He bows to her then and leaves a kiss on her hand, and then he turns to Oreius. But Susan is sure that his words will stay with her forever.

She watches him walk away, becoming smaller and smaller until he is nothing but a dot against the red sun. She thinks of her mother, and how proud she would be of Peter, of all of them, and she can suddenly see her mother's hair (dark) and hear her mother's consoling tone (a whisper of, "Your brother's right, Susan").

For the first time, she feels royal and Narnia feels like home.

--

She releases the arrow. It rips through the air and strikes the apple, slicing it neatly in two.

--

_He kisses her to reassure her._


	6. Good Mornings, The Ball

**A/N: **Hello, lovely readers! I apologize so much for the wait for this one - I know some of you were waiting anxiously for the next chapter. I went through a lot with this baby - I rewrote it close to five times and even had it betaed. But hopefully it is worth it, because it is a _long_ chapter. Honestly, I tried to downsize it, but it just wouldn't work that way. This is why I have decided to post it in two parts - here is the first one! Please enjoy! :)

Natalie

--

_Chapter Six - Good Mornings_

_Part I - The Ball_

It is a good morning.

Susan wakes up to the sound of birds chirping outside her window and the sun teasing at her through the curtains. She dresses, humming to herself all the while, and is brushing her hair when Lucy and Edmund come to greet her.

Lucy, who had been up since sunrise, babbles on about the events of her own morning, which had included spending time with their visitors. For a week, Narnia had played host to many people from different countries, all having gathered to celebrate the anniversary of the White Witch's defeat, and the end of the Hundred Year's Winter.

So far, Susan had only met a few of their guests - mainly Lords and Ladies, for they were all staying in the castle. There was Lady Anel, who was incredibly beautiful and kind, and Prince Brin, who was Peter's age and quite charming. Susan had only spoken to him once or twice, but he and Lucy got on fairly well. He had her energy and lust for life, and the two of them were often seen in each other's company.

Lucy speaks now of all the people Prince Brin introduced to her this morning - Mr. Delen, a bear who was quite the juggler; and Miss Ariana and her four children, all of who were tigers.

"And Susan, you should have seen it! Prince Brin brought along his dog, Phillipe, and he was so scared of Miss Ariana! Poor fellow. Of course, Phillipe isn't a smart animal - that is to say, he can't talk - but he is so cute!" Lucy's continues, bashfully proclaiming that Phillipe is the reason why her lovely green dress is so dirty; she hadn't been able to resist rolling around with him in the grass and mud.

"Prince Brin tried to talk her out of it," interjects Edmund, "because he didn't want her to get hurt, I suppose, but she didn't listen. But that's Lu for you." He shakes his head, looking over at Lucy fondly.

Susan smiles at Edmund and chides Lucy gently, but inwardly is thankful for her sister's fun and lively spirit. It's what makes Lucy, well, _Lucy_, and Susan hopes that it will dwell within her as long as she lived. She never wants her sister to change.

Really, though, this is a naive hope, for all of her siblings are changing. It's hard to believe that once upon a time, they had been in school, frightened of the War and treated like little children. It was a time when Peter was pinned down by taking care of his family, Edmund was bitter and resentful, and Lucy was just a little girl.

Now, Peter doesn't see his family as a burden; his siblings no longer weigh him down, but give him strength. He rules over Narnia confidently, leading all the charges on the battlefield and putting his countrymen before himself. Thankfully, he is more willing to accept help when it is required.

Edmund is no longer bitter or resentful, but feels blessed by all that he has. He places his trust in others easily, willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. He's quieter and more serious now, but he's _Edmund,_ not the scared, insecure boy who used to pick mercilessly on others. He's patient and kind, and has developed roads throughout all of Narnia.

And, of course, there are the physical changes. Peter's round, boyish face is gone, and his hair is much longer, a far cry from the schoolboy cut he'd had in England; Edmund's getting taller and taller, which is a constant source of annoyance for Lucy, who complains that it's becoming more difficult to hug him properly.

But Lucy is changing, too, perhaps more than all of them. Just six months ago, little Lucy had officially become a woman. She had been quite tetchy for several days, which alarmed all of them. Edmund embraced the newer, moodier Lucy, saying that he preferred her to the old Lu. Peter, however, was quite concerned, and came to Susan, moaning that Ed had finally rubbed off on their poor, sweet sister.

When Susan sat back and explained gently to Peter why Lucy was acting this way, the blood drained from her dear brother's face. "Oh, _no_," he said, burying his face in his hands.

Now, Lucy stands only a few inches shorter than Susan. Her hair, chin length upon arrival in Narnia, stops halfway down her back and its color is a great deal lighter than before. Her cheeks are losing their baby fat, the tiny gaps in her teeth have almost completely disappeared, and her body is starting to develop soft curves.

Though her body has changed, Lucy's heart remains the same - cheery, kind, and childlike in its innocence - but she is wiser now. She had developed a calendar for Narnia, which had been well received by all creatures of the country. Susan joked that a calendar would also help her to remember certain times of the month, a joke that Lucy, nor Peter, had appreciated.

Despite all of these changes - physical and not - the four siblings remain closer than ever. One thing that Susan relishes about their relationship is that they always tell each other everything, and are able to talk through any problem.

Lucy continues to ramble on and on about their visitors, Prince Brin in particular. Suddenly she stops, turning to grin at Edmund. "She's not even listening to a word I'm saying, is she, Ed?"

Edmund shrugs. "Well, you do talk an awful lot. That mouth of yours never stops moving, does it?"

Lucy responds in a very mature fashion - she sticks her tongue out at him.

Susan chuckles at the two of them, and draws her sister into a tender embrace. "Of course I'm listening to you, darling. I do love hearing you talk," she confesses. Susan glances over at her brother. "You, too, Edmund."

"But he doesn't talk!" exclaims Lucy.

"Perhaps not as much as you, dear sister, but I hope the two of you will always come to me."

Edmund rolls his eyes at the emotion in her voice, but Lucy squeezes her around the middle and laughs. "Of course we will, Su, of course."

Yes, Susan reflects, it is a good morning indeed.

--

When the ball comes, it is one of the most glorious Narnia has ever seen. The combined work of Susan and the servants of the castle can be seen in the decorations and the way the floor shines, and in the smiles that light up the faces of Narnia's guests.

The chatter in the great hall echoes loudly off the walls, and the guests are split between eating and dancing. Susan marvels at the abundance of the food – heavy meats, chilled fruit, cheese, and plenty of faun's wine.

As she eats, she looks out in front of her at the makeshift dance floor. Lucy is dancing merrily with Peter, whose cheeks are an unnatural rosy red. Susan wonders if he, like quite a few of their guests, has been affected by the faun's wine. It is very strong, and Susan had learned a year ago that her tolerance for the alcoholic drink does not extend beyond half a glass.

Next to her, there is a glass of water, and she reaches for it. Then, she scoops up a handful of grapes, ready to pop them in her mouth one by one. But she hesitates. The presence of Lady Anel, seated at her right, is intimidating. The woman eats and drinks daintily, tiny bites and small sips. It has taken her forty minutes to eat a full slice of meat, and though Susan knows this is ridiculous, she wonders if she should pace herself in a similar fashion.

On Susan's left side sits Prince Brin, who eats his food in a way that directly opposes Lady Anel. He tears into his meat with relish, and cares naught for manners; Susan, smiling, discreetly points out the bit of potato that sticks to his thin mustache. He wipes it away, laughing heartily. Then, he offers her a hand. "May I have the pleasure of this dance, Queen Susan?"

Susan blushes in spite of herself, and folds her napkin to place it on the table. Just as she is about to accept his invitation, Lucy bounces over to the table and tugs Prince Brin's ruffled sleeves. "Dear Prince, you simply must stop eating and come dance with me!" she says brightly.

Susan gives her sister a warm smile. Lucy looks simply lovely tonight, wearing a light blue gown that trails all the way down to the floor. Susan had helped her pick out the dress earlier, thinking that it brought out Lucy's shining eyes. A silver sash is tied around Lucy's waist to match her crown, and a darling necklace that Peter gave her on her last birthday against her throat. Her hair is in two braids, tied together by white flowers, and Susan thinks she looks nothing less than Queenly.

Susan exchanges a look with Prince Brin, and he nods knowingly. Then he takes Lucy's hand in his own, says, "I was hoping you would ask me, your majesty!" and next moment, they are dancing.

Susan, chin resting on her hand, watches them for a short while, partly thankful that Lucy is the one dancing with the Prince. He is a lively dancer – the exact opposite of Susan – and Lucy is certainly able to keep up with him; they are in perfect sync, moving with each other as if they've been friends for years.

A tap on the shoulder distracts her from her thoughts, and Susan turns to look over her shoulder at Peter, who has plopped down next to her. Susan knows immediately that the faun wine has affected him most definitely – for he sits backwards in his chair, something he would never do sober, as it is not befitting to his status as High King.

"Why aren't you dancing?" Peter asks her, so loudly that she flinches. Susan debates whether she should dignify his question with a response. How she hates it when he is drunk.

Susan looks him directly in his bloodshot eyes, sighing. His cheeks are red from the wine, and his blonde hair sticks out oddly beneath his crown. Her maternal feelings tell her to smooth down his hair, but her frustrated, sisterly feelings prevent her from doing so. "You are truly magnificent," she tells him.

The sarcasm oozing from her voice is lost on Peter. "Thanks, Su," he gushes, rocking his chair in her direction. "You're magnificent, too." He grins widely at her, and musses her dark hair, and she has to fight the urge to slap away both of his hands.

Someone giggles, and Susan doesn't think she's ever been more embarrassed. Lady Anel looks at her, and all sorts of apologetic words race to the forefront of her mind, then cease, for she notices that Lady Anel is grinning rather widely at Peter. Susan presses a weary hand to her head as Peter tilts his chair closer to the Lady.

"Hullo, there," he says huskily. Lady Anel blushes; Susan rolls her eyes.

"Hi." The Lady's voice is shy and demure, though still rather giddy.

Several seconds pass. Susan, awkward as she sits between her drunken brother and a flirty woman, reaches for her glass of water. She takes a long drink, and then chokes – for it is Lady Anel's faun wine that she has seized. She expects Peter to take notice, to ask if her if she is okay, but he pays her no mind.

Now he is staring at Lady Anel in a way that is most improper; his eyes bore so fiercely into her that Susan can feel the other woman's discomfort.

"Pardon me," says another voice, and Susan closes her eyes in relief. It is Edmund.

The sound of Edmund's voice seems to bring Peter back to reality. He looks away from Lady Anel, his eyes now glazed over almost completely. Susan offers him a glass of water, and rests a hand on his forearm as a reminder to drink slowly.

"Would you like to dance?" says Edmund, and Susan smiles, happy he has asked her.

"Of course I will," purrs another voice, and Susan is bewildered. Her brother has asked the Lady Anel to dance, not her. She wonders if Edmund is ill, because never has he asked a female to dance before – unless said female was one of his sisters. She deduces that the faun wine has gotten to him, too, for his cheeks are just as rosy as Peter's.

Unlike Peter, however, Edmund seems to be handling his alcohol intake very well. He stands before Lady Anel, one arm folded behind him, the other extended toward her. His back is arched in a respectful bow, but his eyes are focused on the object of his affection. Two emotions run through Susan: pride, at the King her brother has become, so mannerly and refined, and utter _horror_ at seeing her baby brother asking a woman to dance.

"I would be honored, your majesty," says Lady Anel, fluttering her eyelashes at him and placing her hand in his. Susan's eyes widen as Edmund brushes his thumb along the Lady's knuckles softly, eyes gazing at her intensely as he does so. They move to the dance floor, and Susan slumps in her chair, popping grapes into her mouth without a care in the world for propriety.

A loud giggle disturbs the air around her, and she can feel Peter's breath in her ear. "Eddy fancies Lady Anel!" he whispers secretly.

Susan, pouting, throws another grape into her mouth. "Bite your tongue."

"Do you know how long I've waited for this day to arrive?" says Peter, squeezing her shoulders.

"Oh, do _hush_," says Susan, slapping one of his hands. "Edmund's young."

Peter plops back down in his seat and holds out a hand. Susan reaches for another grape, and drops it into his open palm. He doesn't move his hand, and she gives him another one. He puts them both in his mouth, and while chewing, speaks. "Edmund's thirteen. He's not that young. It might be different for girls, Su, but we men start early."

Susan asks him to keep his voice down. "Has anyone prepared Edmund for this? He was only ten when we came to Narnia. Do you think that father…" and she blushes so much that she can feel it on the back of her neck, "had a talk with him?"

"What sort of talk?"

Susan can't bring herself to speak of it any further (she feels like she might faint), and Peter points at her face. "Your freckles are gone, your face has reddened so!" he laughs. Of course, this only causes her to redden even more.

"Oh, jolly for me," she snaps. "I'm so pleased that you find all of this so funny. You know perfectly well which talk I mean. I can't believe I'm even having this conversation with you. I'd prefer to have this conversation with _Peter_."

Peter looks confused. "I am Peter, aren't I?"

Susan scowls at him. "No. Peter would understand how important this sort of talk is – and how _wrong_ it feels even to be having this conversation because Edmund is still _young_. But you can't comprehend this, because you are not the logical, sensible Peter I know. You're a slobbering mess, you reek of wine, and you're behaving like a silly, ordinary _boy_."

Peter looks highly offended at being called a 'boy' and crosses his arms, pouting down at the tablecloth. Susan glares out at the dance floor, waiting for her stare to fall on Edmund and Lady Anel, but Edmund is no longer dancing. Her heart starts to pound and she dearly hopes that he hasn't taken Lady Anel somewhere to… and then her heart slows as she sees Lady Anel dancing with Oreuis.

Eager to know where Edmund is, she stands and walks away from the table, leaving Peter to mope by himself. Her feet lead her out of the great hall, and she steps outside. Sometimes, when the merriment of the Balls and parties gets to be too much for Edmund, one can find him sitting on the castle steps, lost in his thoughts.

Susan feels a surge of happiness when she sees that he is by the steps as she had suspected, but footsteps falter when she discovers he is not alone. In the moonlight, she can make out the black beard of Prince Brin's face, and she retraces her steps as she recognizes they are deep in conversation, discussing something in low tones. She fully intends to leave them be, as she is not one to eavesdrop, but then she hears her name.

"I have to say that if you wish to court her, the decision is not mine. It is Susan's." Edmund taps the heel of his shoe on the stone steps, a sign of nervousness. He has never been good when it comes to her suitors.

"Queen Susan has a reputation for turning down any man that comes to call on her," says Prince Brin, sounding troubled. "I should like to think that your majesty would put in a good word for me?" he ventures, patting Edmund on the shoulder.

"Any word I give will not be as convincing as your heart, sir. Treat her the way she deserves to be treated, and I am certain that if she shares your feelings, she shall say yes."

"I see," says Prince Brin, and then he falls quiet.

Edmund clears his throat after a long pause. "While we are on the subject of courting, I have something to confess."

Prince Brin arches an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I – erm, I was entertaining the notion of – well, you see…"

"You plan to ask my cousin, the Lady Anel, the same question I plan to ask your sister, eh?" says the Prince with a light chuckle. "You mean to court her?"

Edmund nods, and Susan feels her chest tighten. Suddenly, she no longer desires to hear another word of this conversation. The very thought of Edmund _courting_ someone is just too much to take.

She walks slowly back to the great hall, lost in memories. She can still remember the first time she laid eyes upon her brother – such a small baby he was, underweight, but even then his head was covered in thick dark hair. She remembers touching that hair, so soft on her fingertips. "Just like yours, Su," their father had said, and, oh, how she smiled.

"Susan!" says a loud voice, and she jumps in shock. She has reached the great hall, and now Peter is making his way toward her, walking in an off-balance kind of way. She represses the urge to smile when she glimpses the clueless, awkward expression on his face as he attempts to avoid those dancing wildly around him.

He wore the same expression when he met Edmund for the first time. After father had announced that Edmund and Susan shared the same hair, Peter had moped around the room, thinking he had nothing in common with the baby. Their mother had to pull back Edmund's cloth diaper and show him exactly how they were similar.

"What is it, Peter?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest.

"I have been searching for you all over," he announces, slurring his words slightly. "I wanted to talk to you about Eddy – Edmund."

Susan waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. You were right, after all. He's just asking Prince Brin permission to court Lady Anel."

Peter looks at her dazedly. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"Well," he grunts, "good for him. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that _I_ certainly didn't talk to him about…well, you know. And I have no idea if father did, because he didn't exactly sit us down at the same time. Eddy must have heard about it from someone else, because we simply don't discuss those things."

Susan is amazed at how sobered Peter seems to be as he speaks; the only indication of his inebriated state is the old nickname for their brother. He moves closer to her. "Susan?"

"Yes, Peter?"

He places a hand on her forearm, as if to brace himself. His blue eyes are protective and worried when she peers into them. "I…you know, those things? How Eddy and I don't discuss them? Do you – do you ever talk about them with Lu-lu?"

Susan shakes her head avidly. "Certainly not! I would never - I doubt seriously that Lucy dwells on the subject. By the Lion, Peter! She's still so pure."

Peter puts a hand over his heart. " Oh, thank Aslan."

They laugh, though it is short-lived, for at this moment, Edmund enters the great hall. His face is pale, and his jaw clenched, as are the hands at his sides. His eyes look darker than ever, and even his hair seems to spark with anger. Susan exchanges a troubled glance with Peter, and wonders if they should go over and see what's bothering him. Had Prince Brin denied Edmund his request to court Lady Anel?

The Prince is right behind Edmund, straightening his ruffled sleeves, and makes his way directly over to where Lucy is dancing with Mr. Tumnus. Lucy grins brightly at him, and accepts his proffered hands, but as the next song begins, Edmund swoops in. He grabs Lucy, pulling her across the floor in a most ungentle way. Something inside Susan flares, and decides to intervene, but Peter grips her shoulders, preventing her.

They watch as Edmund releases Lucy, and begins talking with her. The two of them seem to argue, ignoring everyone around them (which is fitting, for no one around them seems to notice their unusual behavior). Edmund crosses his arms, but is not allowed to stand this way for long; Lucy places one of his hands around her waist, taking the other in her own, assuming a dance position.

They begin to move around the floor, but their movements are slow and disenchanting. The entire time, Edmund glowers at Prince Brin over the top of Lucy's head.

--

The festive party runs well into the next morning, and Susan is overcome with tiredness. Her whole body aches: her feet from dancing, her bosom from corset she's been wearing for hours on end, and even the crown on her head, heavy upon her imperfect, uncurled hair.

Most of the guests in the hall, no longer dancing, are seated at their tables, fast asleep, having not made it back to their rooms. Susan notes that a few people are engaged in light conversation, not appearing tired in the slightest.

Edmund and Lucy are nowhere to be seen, having left shortly after two unenthusiastic dances. Peter had gone to search for them, but when he did not return, Susan went looking for him, only to find that he had fallen asleep outside Edmund's locked door. Knowing it would be unsightly for any of their guests to see the High King in such a state, Susan attempted to carry him to his chambers. She half-carried, half-dragged him down an entire corridor before a kind guard offered his assistance.

"If you see King Edmund or Queen Lucy, please inform me," she had told the guard, returned to the great hall, needing to keep up appearances for the sake of their kingdom.

Now, as the Ball dissipates, she can see that she is no longer needed. She decides to step outside for a few moments, and then take up searching for her younger brother and sister. She wants to find out why Edmund was behaving so strangely, so infuriated.

A voice catches her attention and she recognizes it as belonging to Prince Brin, who is hurrying toward her with a wide smile etched upon his face. Clearly whatever had happened between him and Edmund isn't affecting him in the slightest. This doesn't seem odd to Susan – for Prince Brin seems a happy fellow all the time.

"Where are you off to, Queen Susan?" he asks.

"I'm taking a walk."

"May I join you?"

"Of course," she says, a little nervously. Susan is aware that he means to court her, but she hopes that he waits a while before asking her. She has always been particular about the men who come to call on her, and though she thinks she could like Prince Brin, she wants to get to know him first.

She also wants to know what happened between himself and her brother, though she really knows it should have no bearing on her relationship with Prince Brin. And if she asks Edmund about it, he would shake a finger, informing her that it is none of her business.

Susan leads the way out of the castle with a small sigh, the Prince not far behind. She lifts her skirts slightly as she descends the steps, smiling at the sight before her – a lone tree stands green and firm a few yards from the castle, and Edmund and Lucy are leant up against it, sleeping soundly.

Looking at the two of them makes her feel so relieved that she suddenly finds herself beaming. The sun on her face is warm and soft, the air so clear. Smiling at the Prince, she crouches down to take off her shoes, and he gives her a look that is most amusing.

Susan smiles up at him, not at all surprised by his expression. She doubts that he often sees Queens running around barefoot, but there are times when she simply cannot help herself, when she has to feel blades of grass against her heels and sand in between her toes. It's silly, but whenever she is barefoot, something inside of her loosens, and she feels free, closer to Narnia.

She reaches up to take off her crown as well, an action that is decidedly more shocking. It is an action that only her siblings ever see, and it transforms her from Queen Susan into just Susan. She doesn't know why, but she feels like Prince Brin can understand this.

She stands, shoes in one hand, crown in the other, saying nothing to him. He raises his eyebrows, and then she responds in kind, which makes him laugh. "I thought you had a reputation for following proper etiquette," he says.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, that's what I've heard. No one has ever spoken of you taking off your shoes in front of men, or daring to remove your crown in public."

"Public?"

Prince Brin points in a direction to Susan's far left where the fauns are gathered, playing their flutes and dancing merrily around a fire that's been crackling for hours.

"Well, I am Queen. I shall do whatever I like," she says airily, only partly believing her words. In truth, Prince Brin is right – normally she prides herself with following the proper etiquette, but something about being around the Prince makes her feel different. He is so carefree, so much like Lucy, that it is contagious. Indeed, he even looks young. His black beard and mustache are marks of a man, but his face is still round. He's also not particularly tall, standing only an inch taller than her, and his face is still round. His brown eyes are not hardened with age and responsibility, but shine with happiness.

She tells him this and he chuckles. "I am perhaps not as carefree as you might think," he confesses. "I think I am only this way because I am here in Narnia. It is such a beautiful place."

Susan nods again, looking up at the sky. The sun is rising, and the sky is a mass of bright pink and orange. The trees dance in the wind, their movements causing a distinct humming sound in the air. Birds flitter about, joyous in the sky, looking black and beautiful against the sun. As she takes her gaze away from the sky in front her, she sees fields of green to her left, their borders marked by vast forests; to her right is the sea, blue and sparkling in the morning light.

"You speak rightly about my country, Prince Brin," says Susan after a long moment, glancing back at him. "It is beautiful."

He says then, in a low voice, "As a boy, I heard of Narnia's beauty, before the long winter, but I didn't believe it. And just months ago, I heard of your beauty, but I didn't believe it, either. No woman could be that beautiful, I thought. But I stand before you now, and I see that I was mistaken."

Though Susan is still not ready for the Prince's proposal of courtship, she is flattered by his compliment. She blushes in spite of herself and smiles up at him. Then, the smile falls from her face.

"What happened?" she asks, concerned, touching his cheek. She hadn't noticed earlier, but now she sees the large, blue-purple bruise. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, it is nothing, nothing, just a trifle," begins Prince Brin, and Susan touches the bruise gingerly – then, someone is tugging hard on her arm.

The firm hand has wrapped itself around her wrist in a strong and unbearably tight grip. Confused, she looks up to find Edmund, who glares fiercely at Prince Brin. Next moment, her brother has dragged her far away from the Prince, and in the direction of the dancing fauns.

Once he releases her, she rubs her arm. "Ouch, Ed, how dare you grab me in such a way! What are you doing?"

"What are _you_ doing?" demands Edmund, pointing down at her shoes. "Put those on. And why aren't you wearing your crown?"

"What are you - " she says, as Edmund practically shoves the crown on top of her head

"Stay away from Prince Brin," he warns, his expression dark.

Susan narrows her eyes as she stares up at him; though he towers over her by a foot, Edmund is younger than she, and he will not order her around. She can speak to whomever she pleases.

"King Edmund," she begins, using his title since they are within earshot of several fauns, "I am a free woman and you best to remember that."

Edmund contemplates her for a long moment, and then says, "I don't like him."

"You hit him last night, didn't you?" she says angrily. "The bruise on his cheek – that was your doing!"

Edmund's only response is a leveling glare, which tells Susan all she needs to know. "Why would you _do_ that?" When he still doesn't answer, Susan adds, "What did you quarrel about last night?"

Edmund kicks up some dirt angrily, but does not break their eye contact. "I will not speak of it. Just believe that my actions were warranted."

"No, I will not." She shakes her head. "If you don't wish to speak of it, that is your choice. Either way, it as nothing to do with me. It is between the two of you."

Edmund simmers. "Susan," he says, and she can tell he is struggling to maintain his patience, "I am asking you to stay away from Prince Brin. Grant me this."

"You are not asking. You are demanding. I will not be demanded."

"Why won't you listen to me?" says Edmund.

Susan rolls her eyes. "Because there's nothing to listen to! If you told me _why_ I should stay away from him, I would consider it. Saying that you don't like him isn't good enough – I need a reason."

"Of course!" bellows Edmund, throwing up his hands in the air. "A reason! I don't know; let me think – how about the fact that I'm your brother? For goodness' sake, if it were Peter asking, you'd listen! Why can't you have faith in my judgment? Everyone else does."

"I have faith in your judgment, Edmund," says Susan, "when it is fair and just. You are far from that right now, and I do not wish to discuss this any longer."

"Susan!" says Edmund desperately, grabbing her wrist again. She flinches, for it still hurts from the first time he grabbed her.

"Let _go_!" she shouts, and he releases her at once, no doubt shocked by her raised voice.

"Edmund," she grits out, "I will say this once, so please listen. It would do you well to remember that Prince Brin is a guest in this castle and should be treated accordingly. Secondly, if you want someone to listen to you, or have faith in you, use your words. Only barbarians use force, and it is never _warranted_. I am your sister, your _older_ sister, and will not be manhandled. You are a King. Act like one."

Edmund looks properly ashamed, and lowers his eyes to the ground. He kicks up the dirt, more softly this time, and glances back at her. "Susan, I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology. I understand your temper, for it is the same as mine. Just don't do it again, and don't _ever_ do it to Lucy, the way you did last night. That is unforgivable."

She watches Edmund, waiting for a reaction, but all the fight seems to have left him. Susan ponders whether she was too hard on him. She longs to reach out and comfort him, but she feels this might diminish her words – words that she needs him to understand. Finally, he nods, his expression even more shameful.

"I know," he says, face pale. Softly, Edmund takes her hand and examines the underside of her wrist. Susan stands quietly, letting him. His fingers tremble as he touches the light purple bruise starting to form, and he gives her a somber look that makes her heart ache. "There are a lot of things I've done that are unforgivable," he adds.

He drops her wrist and walks away, head bowed, and Susan watches as his frame become smaller and smaller against the horizon. Her bare feet are sunk in the grass, and her hair blows in the breeze, but this matters not, for her heart has never felt heavier, and she suddenly feels very, very tired.

--

She tells Prince Brin that she needs to rest, and he nods in understanding and goes on his way. Susan, too tired to walk all the way to her chambers, curls up next to Lucy by the tree.

When she wakes later in the morning, Lucy is gone. Susan straightens, wincing at the pain in her back and her wrist. There is pain in her head, too, a headache shaping near her right temple. The sun's rays, bright and biting now, are of no help. She blinks, trying to adjust to the light, and then picks out of the bits of bark in her tangled hair.

She stands, leaning against the tree for support. Her legs are shaky, reminiscent of sea legs, and she picks up her shoes. She knows she should go inside and clean up – what a sight she must look – but instead, she chooses to go the beach. The beach is a place where Susan has always been able to clear her mind and gain perspective – and how she needs perspective, for now she has no idea how to go about things with Prince Brin, or how to speak in front of Edmund.

She is surprised to find Lucy on the shore, sitting alone with her feet buried completely in the sand.

"May I join you?" she asks, and Lucy looks up at her. But she says nothing.

Susan next asks her if she knows anything about Edmund's quarrel with Prince Brin, but Lucy gives an uncaring shrug. Susan frowns.

She sits down next to her sister, asks if something is wrong. Lucy shakes her head, and quietly says that everything could not be more perfect.

But Lucy was not one made for lying, and Susan can see right through her. Lucy is hiding something from her, something distressing. Her bright eyes are sorrowful today, and the glow that normally surrounds her, that lights her up from the inside out, is missing.

"I only wish to help, Lu," says Susan, her voice nearly breaking. Things are bad enough with Edmund – she cannot have things bad with Lucy, too. "Talk to me, dear one, the way you've always been able to."

Susan gives her hand a light squeeze, but Lucy doesn't squeeze back the way she normally does. Instead, she stares out at the ocean, looking much older than her years, and says, "You wouldn't understand, Susan. Just let it lie."

--


	7. Good Mornings, The Proposal

**A/N: **Enjoy! :)

--

_Chapter Six - Good Mornings_

_Part II - The Proposal_

She finds Peter in his chambers, snoring. It takes Susan a good five minutes to rouse him, but when she does, he sits up in bed, groaning and holding his head in his hands. Susan pulls the red and gold sheets away from his body and encourages him to walk outside with her. "You could do with some fresh air," she says, in a voice that is brighter than she feels.

She waits outside the door while Peter changes, and he meets her in the hallway, buttoning his tunic. He gives her a look, one she has come to recognize as his "Do I look presentable?" look. In reply, she smoothes down his blonde hair and tucks some of it behind his ears.

As they leave the castle, Peter greets every servant along the way. One would never guess that he was hungover. They step out into the sun, and Peter finally asks her what's wrong.

"Why do you think something's wrong?" asks Susan, wondering if she is always this transparent.

"I'm your brother," he says. "I know when you're not right."

And so Susan tells him the events of the morning. She tells him of her walk with Prince Brin, and of her fight with Edmund – how sorry he had been, how dejectedly he walked away. She tells him of her conversation with Lucy on the beach, and how the words '_You wouldn't understand'_ bear over and over in her mind.

Peter waits patiently as she speaks, listening intently, the way he always does. He hears of how worried she is about Edmund and Lucy, and how frustrated she is with them as well. He listens to her lament, "Have I not always been there for them? When they were little, did I not comfort them when they cried? Haven't I always listened?"

She doesn't understand why Edmund and Lucy won't confess their troubles to her – why Edmund won't tell her about Prince Brin, or why Lucy won't explain why she is so sad.

When she finishes, she breathes deeply, and falls silent. Peter looks out at the expanse of land before them, seemingly lost in his thoughts. After awhile, he turns to her, a look of puzzlement on his face.

"Ed isn't normally hostile toward your suitors," he remarks, and Susan nods in agreement.

"I agree – that's your job."

Peter smirks. "Someone's got to do it."

"Anyway…"

"Right, then. I don't understand why he wouldn't just tell you. But Ed can be really emotional when he wants to be, just like a girl. He bottles things up, and then they just kind of…explode. There's got to be a reason why he doesn't like this Prince Brin chap, even if he's being a mule and won't tell you what it is."

"What do you think?" asks Susan, biting her lip.

Peter shrugs. "I don't see anything wrong with him. But Edmund's our brother – I trust him before strangers. However, this has nothing to do with me. You should do what you believe to be right."

"Than I shall continue to spend time with Prince Brin."

Peter looks a bit disappointed in this decision, but nods his head nonetheless. "In the meantime," he says, "I shall try to talk to Ed. Maybe he'll tell me why he doesn't like Prince Brin."

"What about Lucy?" inquires Susan, and Peter frowns.

"I have no idea. Perhaps I shall talk to her as well."

Susan sighs. "What about me? What am I to do, if I'm not allowed to talk to Prince Brin, and you're talking to Edmund and Lucy?"

"Chin up, Su," he says, smiling at her. "You're a Queen. I'm sure there are a number of things you can do."

--

She spends the rest of the day in the company of Lady Anel. The Lady has a request – to witness firsthand Queen's skill for archery – and Susan is happy to oblige.

As arrows zoom through the air, Lady Anel sits languidly on the grass, fanning herself with a pale, ring covered hand. Her green eyes sparkle, and her wavy brown hair is beautiful against the wind. Her pink cheeks are rosy with excitement, as she speaks of nothing but Edmund. She praises everything about him, from his beautiful hair to his beautiful nose to his beautiful hands. "And, goodness, King Edmund is such a wonderful dancer! One wouldn't think it to look at him – but he is so poised, so graceful! And his eyes! So intense and serious! I should love to stare into them forever!"

Susan feels rather lightheaded. "And what of King Edmund's age, Lady? Aren't you quite a bit older than he?"

Lady Anel chuckles. "Yes, I am, by perhaps four years. But what does age matter when it comes to matters of the heart?"

Susan swallows the lump in her throat. She has no idea how to respond to this statement, so she chooses to ignore it. "Lady Anel," she says, releasing another arrow. She watches its progress through the air (bullseye), and then lowers her bow. "Now that I know of your thoughts on my royal brother, King Edmund, might you happen to know what your cousin thinks of him?

Lady Anel shrugs dramatically. "I think you should ask him, your majesty. After all, he has taken quite a fancy to you."

"I would," lies Susan, "but I do believe he's with my royal sister, Queen Lucy."

"Well, it doesn't much matter. I've no idea his feelings about King Edmund. I don't really see why dear old Brin would feel anything but friendship for him. I would think that Brin would want to look up to him. After all, he's only a Prince. Edmund is _King_." She closes her eyes in delight, smiling.

--

Dinner that night in the great hall is wrought with tension. Peter, unsuccessful in his attempts to talk to Edmund and Lucy, keeps his eyes focused on his food and doesn't speak. Lucy and Edmund sit next to each other, her hand resting on his as he glares about the room, no doubt waiting for Prince Brin to enter it. Lady Anel throws glances in Edmund's direction, but he either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore her. Anyone can see that this leaves her confused and hurt, and Lucy keeps giving her sympathetic smiles. Susan holds her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together.

Other guests at the table don't seem to notice the tension, however, so engaged are they in their mindless chatter and delicious food.

Prince Brin eventually arrives to the feast, and Susan indicates the empty seat next to her. "Come sit down," she says warmly.

Edmund shakes his head from side to side, as if he wants to say something but has resolved not to do so. Susan watches him with bated breath, but he just stares at her, his dark eyes intense, freckles paling against his skin. He remains composed throughout the meal, and afterwards, asks if he might walk her to her chambers. Susan accepts.

"I know that I was out of line this morning," says Edmund as they walk arm in arm. "You told me that I was not being fair, and perhaps you were right. But I am not the only one who hasn't been fair."

"What do you mean?" asks Susan, wrinkling her brow.

Edmund clenches his jaw. "I understand why you refuse to listen to me, why you won't trust my judgment."

"Why?"

He looks at her sadly. "Because you still see me as a ten-year-old traitor. I betrayed Narnia, abandoned my family, abandoned you. I know you, Susan, and sometimes your heart can be unforgiving."

Though his words are spoken quietly, Susan feels the brunt of them; it is as if he has slapped her across the face. "My goodness," she breathes, "is that what you think? That I haven't forgiven you?"

Edmund inhales deeply, then releases the breath slowly, nodding.

Susan feels as if she might cry. She can feel the tears behind her eyes, waiting to form, but she shakes her head; she will not shed tears in front of her younger brother. She's cried in front of Lucy, and Peter, but she will never, ever, cry in front of Edmund. He's been sensitive and emotional all his life, and Susan made a promise to herself when he was very young to always be strong in front of him.

"I don't believe this, Ed," she says, and her voice trembles only slightly. "I forgave you such a long time ago. Don't you remember, that morning you came back to us? I hugged you, Edmund, and that was a hug of forgiveness. And two years ago, when you found out that Aslan sacrificed for you? Do you remember how we all wept together – the four of us – and spent the night with you? Would I have done that if I was uncaring?"

Edmund argues softly, "You said to me earlier that some things were unforgivable."

"I spoke in anger, Ed. And, yes, you did abandon us, you did abandon me. But I would never abandon you, Edmund. I would _never_."

"Do you promise?" he asks, and his eyes are graced with a sincerity that Susan hasn't seen from him before.

"Of course I do."

Then Edmund does something that surprised her: he _smiles_ – a great, happy smile that shows his teeth and lightens his eyes, that changes his entire disposition. And Susan hopes he knows that she meant every word.

--

Susan wakes to the sound of chirping birds and the sun streaming through her window, as usual. But instead of looking forward to the upcoming day, she shrinks away from it, filled with dreads. A week has passed, and though Susan and Edmund have reached some semblance of an understanding, he still looks warily at Prince Brin when he is anywhere near her.

As for the Prince himself, Susan finds herself enjoying his company, though he has still not asked to court her. She can't help but feel relieved by this – for she has decided that her feelings for him are that of friendship and nothing more. Perhaps his silence means that he shares those feelings; she dearly hopes so.

Lucy, however, spends no time with Prince Brin, or anyone. She hasn't been herself since the night of the Ball, choosing to stay in her room most of the time, not allowing anyone to enter. Only two nights ago, Peter tried to speak with her, but Lucy had the door locked and ignored him as he pounded against it. This alone was unheard of for Lucy, for she never ignored Peter. Peter had been rather fretful that evening.

Susan has no idea what might be bothering her sister (though she wonders if it has something to do with Prince Brin), and this upsets her just as much as it does Peter. She doesn't see why Lucy has not come to her yet, to cry and confess to her; she's quite sure she'd be able to understand whatever it is Lucy's going through, despite Lucy's opinion to the contrary.

When she has dressed, Susan hurries to her sister's chambers. This afternoon, Narnia's visitors are to depart, all going back to their own countries. As Kings and Queens, she and her siblings have the duty to see them off – a duty that sometimes can last for hours. On these days, it has become a tradition for she and Lucy to dress, then walk united with Peter and Edmund into the throne room.

She knocks on the door timidly, not really expecting Lu to answer the door; she is genuinely taken aback when it opens. Lucy stands before her, still wearing a nightgown. A teddy bear is in her hands; Susan recognizes it as the one she gave Lucy when they first became Queens, to help her remember Finchley. She is strangely touched that Lucy has kept it so close to her all this time.

"Might I come in?" Susan asks, and Lucy leaves the door open and walks back into her bedroom. Susan assumes this is an invitation, so she follows Lucy, shutting the door gently behind her.

An assortment of dresses lay sprawled over Lucy's bed, and when Susan goes to seat herself, she makes sure not to sit on any of them. Lucy sets her teddy bear on the dressing table and turns back to bed, waving a hand at the dresses. "I can't decide what to wear," she sighs.

"Shall I help?" offers Susan.

"I don't need your help, Su," says Lucy, a bit exasperated, and Susan doesn't know what she's done wrong.

Lucy bites her lip, gaze lingering on each of the dresses before picking up a red one, patterned with brown flowers and white trim. She holds it up against her body, glancing at herself in the mirror, then nods in approval.

Susan picks another dress from the bed - a long, yellow dress with flared sleeves - and holds it up. The red dress Lucy holds is suited for autumn, not summer as this one is. It's also more of an evening dress, rather than a daytime dress. Besides, the yellow dress is so fitting to Lucy's normal, bright personality. It would be impossible for her sister _not_ to smile whilst wearing this dress, and there's nothing more that Susan wishes to see than her sister's smile. "This one is much better for you, Lu," she says, holding it up.

Lucy turns around, looking defensive. "You don't think this one would look nice?"

"Of course it would look nice, dear, I just don't think - "

"You just don't think it would look nice on me," interrupts Lucy.

With that, she throws down the red dress and grabs the yellow. As she changes, Susan can only stare at her in bewilderment, not understanding why her sister looks so upset. Lucy tears out of the room soon after, leaving her behind.

--

Susan sits in her throne regally, inclining her head to every bow and curtsy bestowed upon her. Lucy, on her left, grins and waves to each of their guests as they take their leave. Edmund is quiet and still, in his usual manner. Peter is the one who actually speaks, thanking everyone for visiting Narnia and taking part in the celebrations.

The goodbyes seem to last for hours, but then Prince Brin stands before her. He wears a lighthearted expression, but Susan can see the desperation there as well. The Lady Anel stands beside him, looking over at Edmund with hope in her eyes, though Edmund's eyes are focused on Prince Brin.

Prince Brin steps forward after Peter has thanked him for visiting, and smiles nervously. "May I speak, your majesty?"

"Go on," says Peter curiously.

When Prince Brin speaks, he has a determined glint in his eyes. "I was wondering if I might have the hand of Queen Susan."

Gasps echo around the walls, and Peter raises his eyebrows, clearly not expecting these words. Lucy rubs her head, as if it suddenly aches, and stares at the marble floor. Susan places a hand over her heart, faint with surprise. All is silent for a few seconds, but then Edmund stands from his throne, hand on the hilt of his sword, giving the Prince an icy look. "Absolutely not," he says, his voice strong and final.

Susan looks down in embarrassment, but Peter addresses Edmund calmly. "King Edmund, I think Queen Susan, can speak for herself."

Edmund looks abashed, but remains standing. "You are right, High King. Please, dear sister, give the Prince his answer." His voice shakes, but Prince Brin looks happy, as if all his dreams are about to come true. Susan hates that she is about to crush those dreams.

"I cannot marry you, Prince Brin," she says. "I've known you only a month and you've not even asked to court me yet."

"Well, then, might I have that pleasure?" he asks, and his winning smile is almost enough to convince her, but not enough.

"I am sorry," she says, "but I cannot. I consider you a good friend, but I'm afraid my heart sees you as nothing else. I do thank you for your offer."

She keeps her gaze on Prince Brin's face, waiting for him to show some kind of emotion – sadness, confusion, even anger – but this does not happen. Instead, he gives a very curt nod, as if to dismiss her entirely. "Very well, then." He turns, facing Lucy, who sits dejectedly on her throne. "Queen Lucy, might you be willing to accept an offer of my courtship?"

The gasps that echo throughout the hall are even louder than before. "Absolutely _not_!" rings out a voice, and this time it is Peter, though he remains seated. "Queen Lucy is far too young to be courted. Her majesty is only thirteen!"

"With all due respect," snaps Prince Brin, "but your grace allowed Queen Susan to speak for herself. Might the same courtesy be extended toward Narnia's youngest Queen?"

Susan reels from shock at the sharpness in Prince Brin's tone. In all their time together, he's never raised his voice, nor spoken harshly. To an outsider, his words might seem fair, but they are far from it; they are patronizing. As she watches his lips twitch in anger, Susan realizes that he had been false all along. This realization renders her confused, and she can do nothing but stare blankly at him.

Edmund, however, draws his sword. "With all due _respect_, Prince Brin," he spits out, "but my royal sisters are not prizes. In Narnia, we do not consider it proper to transfer affection from one lady to another so quickly. I will say that I doubt that your display today is marked by any kind of affection at all."

"I agree, King Edmund," says Peter, and his following words sound as though they are being forced out of his throat, "but the Prince Brin is right. Queen Lucy has a mind of her own, and we must allow her to speak."

All eyes turn to Lucy, whose face is impassive. She looks out at her guests, then at Edmund and Peter, then at Prince Brin. One hand plays with the sleeve of her yellow dress, and then she stands; Susan sits.

Lucy draws herself up to her full height. "No."

The word is simple, but it is enough to cause nearly everyone present to sag in relief (Mrs. Beaver claps her hands, while Mr. Tumnus wipes his forehead shakily with a hanky), but her siblings are especially thankful.

"Is your reason the same as your sister's?" asks Prince Brin. "You feel only friendship for me?"

"No," says Lucy again, suddenly looking very old. But her face is set with determination, and Susan can see the fire start to build again in her eyes. "I may be young, but I am not a little girl. I am a _Queen_. As a Queen, and a self-respecting woman, I will not be second best. I admit that I harbored a mere girl's fancy for you, but the display you have shown here today, and the displays you have shown privately, have erased that fancy. I will not be courted by you, and it must be said that I do not feel friendship for you either. The sight of you offends me, and my country."

She sits down, and lays her hands primly in her lap.

The entire room is stunned into silence by Lucy's speech, and Susan feels a wave of sadness wash over her. Is this why Lucy couldn't come to her – had she had been jealous of her relationship with Prince Brin? Susan glances at her, sitting stiffly, and sighs.

Edmund breaks her from her thoughts. "I believe you heard my sister," he says, looking directly at the Prince. "Take your leave from this country."

Prince Brin glares hatefully about the room. "You have made a mistake," he growls. "I would have ruled well over this land, made a wonderful King."

Peter points to his crown. "In case you haven't noticed, Narnia already has two Kings."

"Yes," spat Prince Brin, "but one is not fit to rule. He is a _traitor_ to this country, and to all of you!"

Edmund squares his shoulders angrily, and Peter jumps up from his throne, but it is Susan who speaks. Her heart pounds furiously against her chest, angry and defensive.

"King Edmund's betrayal was forgiven long ago and it was _just_. You stand there, so self-righteous, but your heart is that of a hypocrite. I can only hope that before you become a King in your own land, your heart grows to be more like his – honest and caring. As of this moment, you are unfit to shine his shoes."

Edmund looks over at her, as if seeing her for the first time, and Susan feels her heart swell with love for him. She gives him a small smile.

Prince Brin opens his mouth to say something else, but Lady Anel steps forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. "Cousin," she whispers, "I think it is time to take our leave."

Something changes in Edmund's eyes, and he races toward the Lady. His hand finds hers. "Lady Anel," he says, brushing his thumb across her knuckles, "Know that you are always welcome in Narnia."

Lady Anel smiles sadly at him. "Thank you, King Edmund. But I shan't be returning. I do not see you as the traitor my cousin does, but I am afraid my alliances cannot be divided. Prince Brin is my family, and I must align myself with him."

Edmund gives Lady Anel a smile that harbors no ill feelings. "I shall be here when you change your mind," he says cheekily, kissing her hand.

The smile remains on his face until every last guest at Cair Paravel is gone. Then he walks out of the throne room, his shoulders hunched low.

--

They find Edmund in his room, lying in his bed. He looks incredibly depressed, and Susan doesn't blame him – his first love leaving combined with a reminder of his betrayal must be breaking him inside.

She stands in the doorway with Peter and Lucy, but Edmund doesn't turn in their direction, though she is sure he has heard them enter. "Edmund?" she says tentatively. "Ed, dear, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he says, his back still toward her. His voice is rather choked up.

Lucy goes to him first, wrapping her arms around his neck. Edmund coughs unnecessarily, trying to be strong. When Susan throws her arms around him, too, Edmund shrugs off the two of them. "I'm fine," he says, disgruntled.

"Ed, darling, I know this must be hard for you, but I assure you everything will work out for the best. Perhaps you can find another young woman who is, well, young. Closer to you in years. Or," she starts hopefully, "perhaps you'll wait to find another woman until you're Lady Anel's age."

Edmund buries his face in his hands and moans. "Susan," he whines, clearly embarrassed.

"Su," says Peter in an admonishing voice, "don't you know? Everyone says it's better for a chap to pursue an older woman."

"Peter!" groans Ed.

"Oh, do stop making fun of Edmund," says Lucy, resting her head on his shoulder. "He's been through enough."

Edmund lets out an exasperated sigh. "I'm _fine_!" "She's just a girl. I have enough of you in my life already."

"Hey!" says Lucy, swatting his arm.

"That's no way to talk about our sisters, Ed," adds Peter.

"Well, then I'll just stop talking, then," smirks Edmund.

"Please don't," says Susan. "Let us simply turn the conversation to other matters…like why you and Prince Brin quarreled in the first place. I should really like to know.

Edmund sighs, then sits up in bed; Susan and Lucy do the same. Susan looks at her brother intently. He scratches his head, and looks questioningly at Lucy. Whatever he finds in her gaze allows him to begin, and he directs his words at Susan.

"Our quarrel was similar to what happened this morning. He asked to court you, Su, and I said it was your choice. Then I said I planned on courting Lady Anel. But he said no right away, and I asked why. I thought it was because I am only thirteen, but he said it was because he'd have no traitors courting his cousin. I said if he felt that way, perhaps he shouldn't court you, Su. He said he wanted to court you because you were beautiful and because Narnia deserved two proper Kings. He said I wasn't fit to sit on the throne because I was traitor. He said that he wanted to marry you, and that it would be your choice. I assured him that once his true colors were known, your answer would be no. Then, he…" and here, he trails off and looks at Lucy again.

Lucy squeezes his hand. "I don't mind, Edmund."

Edmund takes a breath, and turns his gaze to Peter. "He said that if Su refused, Lucy would say yes. He said she was just a silly little girl, and that even though she couldn't compare to Susan, he would ask her anyway. He said she would say yes because she followed him round everywhere, had taken a fancy to him. 'She'll be my new puppy,' he said. And at that point, I was so sick of him that I punched him."

"Oh, _Lu_," cries Susan, as she practically crawls over Edmund to reach her. Edmund moves out of the way, allowing Susan to squeeze between them. Susan holds Lucy close to her, stroking her hair. "That's why you wouldn't come to me."

"I would have told you, Su," says Edmund. "But Lu didn't want me to."

"Of course I didn't," mumbles Lucy, her head resting on Susan's bosom. "You wouldn't have understood. You don't know what it's like to have a sister that everyone compares you to. You're so beautiful, Susan."

"Lucy," says Peter, leaning over to stroke her hair. "You're beautiful, too. Don't listen to what anyone says. And, besides, you're still maturing!"

Susan nods. "In a few years, everyone will be calling you the beautiful one, dear. I have no doubts in my mind."

"But more importantly," says Edmund, "is that looks don't matter. Lu, you could look like a dog for all I care. You'll still be Lucy. A man should like you for that, for who you are, not for your outward appearance."

"Not that any man should like you at _all_," points out Peter. "Not in that way. You are young. The only men you should be spend time with are me and Ed."

Lucy chuckles lightly, her eyes watery with happy tears; then her face changes. "What about Mr. Tumnus?"

Peter shakes his head solemnly. "Oh, no. I think you should stop going to his house for tea. He's _way_ too old."

Lucy looks morose for a moment before she realizes Peter is joking; then she laughs loudly and breaks her hold on Susan to hug him. Susan giggles and even Edmund lets a chuckle loose, and then soon all four of them are holding each other and laughing.

--

Susan wakes up the next morning with the light of the sun beaming down on her. She lies on her side, on the far left of Edmund's bed. Edmund sleeps next to her, and Lucy is snuggled up against him, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Peter is on the far right of the bed, next to Lucy, lying on his side as well.

When Susan opens her eyes, she finds Peter awake, too, and he is staring at Edmund and Lucy with a soft expression on his face. From that simple expression, Susan knows exactly what he's feeling, for the past few days have stirred the same feelings inside of her.

When Edmund asked her why she hadn't listened to his warning about Prince Brin, she knew, deep down, the reason. It wasn't because she didn't trust him, it wasn't because she thought he was being foolish – it was because she didn't want to rely on him. _She_ was the big sister; _she_ was the one who gave warnings and protection. Similarly, she only received warnings and protection from one person: Peter. Peter was her big brother, the one who she turned to for advice, the one who she would listen to, the one who would protect her honor.

Never in a thousand years did she think that one day, her little brother, who used to steal biscuits from her plate and savagely yank on her pigtails, would brandish his sword for her sake. And never in a thousand years did she ever imagine that Edmund would fancy someone, that he would pursue a woman and run his thumb along her knuckles and be so gentlemanly about it.

She looks at him now, sleeping with mouth slightly open, and accepts it once and for all – Edmund has grown up. Her eyes water with tears as she looks down at Lucy; her younger sister mumbles something unintelligible in her sleep and then turns over, now facing Peter.

Lucy's grown up, too, reflects Susan sadly. She can still see Lucy as a baby, gurgling and smiling, can remember when Lucy would tug on Peter's hair and poke Edmund hard on the nose, when she'd spit up food whilst in her high chair. She can see her as a child, gap-toothed, dimpled, and crawling into her bed during thunderstorms, shaking with fright. This image is a direct contrast to the girl before her now, who dances in the rain and who is the bravest person she knows.

When she was a child, Lucy used to bring all of her problems to Susan – silly problems like not being able to find a shoe before school, or not wanting to eat her peas at dinner, or soap getting in her eyes when she bathed. Now, Lucy will sort out a few of her own problems, without help, and bring to her much more complicated ones – feelings of unworthiness, jealousy, and unrequited love.

They have changed, her dear Edmund and Lucy. And she, too, will have to change. She won't be able to play mother anymore, won't be able to coddle and protect them from the world. She won't be able to demand they go to bed at a certain hour, but accept that they are old enough to make their own decisions. Old enough to pave their own lives.

Oh, how her relationships with them will change. Oh, how much they have changed already!

And she will have to adjust.

She smiles and reaches for Peter. Tapping him lightly on the shoulder, Susan watches as Peter lifts his gaze from Edmund and Lucy. His eyes shining with unshed tears, he takes hold of her wrist. He looks at it strangely, and shoots her a confused look – Susan realizes he's staring at the wrist that Edmund bruised. She shakes her head lightly, dismissing his silent query, and he touches the bruise gently before letting go of her hand.

A few minutes later, Peter rises from the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. He walks over to her part of the bed, standing next to her as she beholds their siblings once more. She sighs softly, and he lets out a sigh of his own, then bends down and kisses the side of her head. "I'll go see about breakfast in bed."

She nods and he goes to leave the room, then turns around. "Oh, I almost forgot," he whispers, grinning. "Good morning."

Yes, thinks Susan, grinning back at him, it is a good morning indeed.

--

_He kisses her because he understands._

_--_

**A/N: **Now that you've read the entire chapter, I can say that it was so much FUN for me to write, because there were all sorts of things I wanted to address - how Susan would deal with Ed and Lu growing up (especially if romantic parties were involved), Edmund's betrayal, just the Ed/Su relationship in general, a drunk!Peter, Peter and Susan having a talk about "the talk", and the four Pevensies sleeping in the bed. I am amazed I got it all in there.

I would like to guarantee that the other chapters will not be this long, but all I can guarantee is that they will not be _this_ long.

Also, I'm aiming to get 100 reviews over here (eventually, not just with this chapter, LOL), and my 100th reviewer will get a Narnia fic as a present. So review! I love to know what you guys think, anyway. :)


	8. Never Get Sick

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who's been waiting patiently for this next chapter! My beta was sick, but she still came through and was absolutely amazing. I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I also want to thank every one of you who reviewed - I was so floored by the amount of reviews, seriously. They were all so insightful and awesome. I love you guys. :)

--

_Chapter Seven - Never Get Sick_

"Oh, what a fool I am! An utter _fool_!"

"Lucy," says Susan weakly, "this isn't helping."

"I know," Lucy moans. "But I am so sorry. You told me that you weren't feeling well – "

Susan clutches her chest, resting a hand over her heart. How rapidly it's beating, as if it is ready to jump out of her body! She opens her mouth to tell Lucy; a wave of nausea rolls over her, preventing her.

Lucy can't stop talking. "You told me, Su, you told me. But I brought you out here anyway. I so wanted to go on an adventure! You know, the boys go on adventures all the time, but we don't. I just…I don't even really know where we _are - _this is Edmund's territory. Oh, I suppose I am really bad at this. Peter's right, I can't carry a map in my head. I do wish we brought horses. Now I don't know what to _do_."

Susan wants to calm Lucy, who is pacing frantically, but she can't. Between the nausea and the horrible pain in her abdomen, she can't really do anything but groan and lean on the tree behind her.

"Susan," says Lucy worriedly, kneeling next to her on the forest's floor. "Do you need my cordial?"

Susan mutters that the cordial is to be used for extreme cases, but she is quite sure her words do not come out coherently. Her words are useless anyway, because Lucy has already taken the cordial from her belt. She unscrews the top and gives Susan a look, which Susan understands perfectly; she obliges, opening her mouth.

The drop of fireflower juice hits her tongue and she swallows. The liquid blisters the roof of her mouth. Susan grimaces, hating the sensation. Never before has she had to use the cordial, but she never imagined it would burn. Still, she knows the healing effect will come over her soon, and that is all she cares about. Only, it doesn't. Another ray of pain shoots through her, and she has to bend over, her face only inches above the ground, in order to stop it.

"Oh, Aslan!" cries Lucy. "Why isn't it working?"

Susan tries to look into her sister's face, but her vision is blurry. With as much energy as she can muster, she moves a hand over the ground, touching the leaves, until she finds it, feels the smooth, cool ivory on her fingertips. "Lu," she rasps.

Lucy takes the horn from her and blows. It rings clear and true throughout the forest, and the trees sway from the severity of its sound. "Help is coming, Su," whispers Lucy, touching her face, kissing her cheeks. "Please hold on."

Nausea surges through Susan again, this time accompanied by an even sharper pain in her abdomen. She breathes heavily, looking into Lucy's eyes to find comfort, and manages a tiny smile.

Ages seem to pass, and then suddenly Lucy squeezes her hands tightly. "Do you hear that Susan? Hooves."

Susan nods, and then all goes black.

--

When Susan wakes, the darkness of the forest is gone and the sun is hot against her face. The sound of whinnying horses and boots on the ground tells her that she's home – at Cair Paravel. She's cradled in someone's arms, and instantly, she knows they are Peter's. His scent, his movement up the stone steps of the castle, the way he holds her – tightly, as if she's about to break – all give him away.

"Fetch a doctor," he barks at someone.

That someone is Oreius. "A human doctor, my Lord?"

"Anyone with medical experience will do."

Susan tries to open her eyes, but she is unable. Panic starts to rise in her. Sometimes it is easy to forget that she and her siblings are the only humans in Narnia. There are no doctors here that are familiar with the anatomy of humans.

"Peter, is she all right?" says a tearful voice, Lucy's voice.

"I told her not to leave the castle today," he says, frustrated, as they ascend a staircase. "She didn't eat breakfast, said she was ill, so I told her to rest. And what does she do? She goes gallivanting through the forest."

They turn a corner, and Susan feels horribly guilty.

"It was my fault," says Lucy. "I made her go with me."

"_What_?"

"Peter, I'm sorry - "

"You should be."

A door opens and Susan recognizes the walls of her bedroom, the vanity in the corner. Within seconds, she can feel familiar silk sheets against her back, a soft pillow beneath her head. It feels like heaven until another sharp pain moves through her abdomen.

Peter rounds on Lucy. "How could you have been so stupid?"

"Peter - " Edmund interrupts.

But Peter ignores him. "Even if Susan hadn't fallen ill, why would you think it wise to go off into the forest alone, without an escort? Especially in these times… you know the dangers we face with the Giants."

"I didn't think we needed an escort. We were just exploring - "

"You're a queen, Lucy! Of course you need an escort!"

Susan wishes she could place a hand on his shoulder, to ease the anger and worry teeming from him. She cannot remember a single time Peter had ever raised his voice to Lucy, let alone _yelled_ at her, and hearing it now only makes her feel worse.

"You're not a little girl anymore, Lucy," he says, this time in a low voice, "but I swear, sometimes you act as foolish as a five-year-old."

"Peter, that's _enough_," says Edmund, his tone even quieter, but just as threatening. "I understand that you're upset, but you don't need to lash out at Lucy."

Another person enters the room, his footsteps sure and swift, hooves clicking against the floor.

"How may I be of assistance?" he greets.

"Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy exclaims. "My dear faun, you have medical experience?"

"Very little, but I hope I can help."

Susan is not comforted by the nervousness in the faun's voice. He breathes heavily as he leans over her. "Queen Susan," he says firmly, patting her cheeks. "Queen Susan, are you able to hear me? Open your eyes, Majesty."

Susan braces herself, the ache behind her eyelids unbearable. Slowly, she opens them; she can hear Lucy sigh with relief.

"Good," says Tumnus. "Now, what are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

She nods, indicating her abdomen. He feels around the area, causing her to shriek with pain and Edmund to wince and look away.

Lucy speaks shakily, "She didn't eat this morning… "

"She barely ate yesterday," adds Peter, his face white. Susan tilts her head in his direction and gives him a tiny smile, which he doesn't return.

"She was complaining of nausea earlier. Please, what is wrong with her?" Lucy's face is panicked, her brown eyes glittering with tears. "Do you know why my cordial isn't working?"

"Perhaps it is something that can't be _healed_," says Tumnus. "The cordial is used mainly for surface injuries, isn't it? Sword wounds and the like? I think this is more serious – internal, maybe something in the bloodstream or an organ."

Tumnus looks back at Susan, his hands still pressed against her, his face grave. Susan wishes he would move away his hands, the sensation is so harsh.

"Has she been poisoned?" asks Lucy.

"Is she pregnant?"

"Edmund!"

Edmund looks at Susan. "Well, are you?"

Susan's response is a disproving glance thrown in Edmund's direction. Then she turns her attention back to Tumnus.

"What is it?" she questions weakly.

Tumnus looks at her anxiously. "I honestly do not know. Perhaps Lucy is right, but I can't really be certain. I don't have – my only knowledge of human medicine is what I've read in fairy tales and fables."

Before Susan can stop them, tears trail down her face. The terror rises through her, and she begins to wrack with sobs. Soon, Peter and Edmund are on either side of her, the former holding her hand, the latter stroking her hair. Lucy climbs into the bed with her, wiping away her tears.

"Susan," says Edmund, as she cries. "You have to calm down, you'll only make it worse."

"Don't fret, Su," says Lucy, giving her a teary smile. "You're going to be okay. By the Lion, you'll make it through."

--

Susan can remember a time, very long ago, when her nights were sleepless. She worried about things like marks in school and Edmund's too-small trousers; cried over her father being sent off to War and the way her mother shut down after he left. Nightmares plagued her sleep, horrible nightmares of those she loved in peril.

When she was little, she'd crawl into her mother and father's bed, hoping her parents would make the nightmares go away. When she had grown a little, she realized that her parents couldn't, and that's when she went to Peter. Because her big brother, for some reason, was always able to chase away her fears.

Then, she came to Narnia, and worries, tears, and nightmares came less often. She was finally able to sleep – to _rest_.

Until now.

_Now_, she dreams of herself, her impending death and the reactions of her siblings. She dreams of a mother and father she had forgotten years ago. Her father features strongly in her dreams, a man with Lucy's hair and Edmund's eyes, who taught her to read books and develop her mind; who sometimes brushed her hair and told her stories about his patients.

_Patients…what are patients? What was his job? _She wonders, teetering between consciousness and unconsciousness. She struggles to recall, tries to force her dreams to remember, and then suddenly she can see…

She's waiting, sitting on a stool with her back straight the way her mother taught her. The room is white and smells strongly of alcohol. And then she sees her father, wearing a white coat, a metal thing hanging round his neck – a stethoscope, Peter had called it. She'd asked him what that meant, what a stethoscope did; he had shrugged and told her to look it up in the dictionary.

Peter enters the room now, rubbing his chin in a very adult-like way. "Father's coming," he says nervously.

She holds out a hand to him, and he takes it. She hops down from the stool and releases her grip. Tears are forming in his eyes.

"Oh, Petey," she says, "please don't cry. Father will make him okay, I know it."

Peter wipes his eyes, nodding. Susan pats his shoulder, and indicates the stool. "Come on," she encourages. When he's seated, she spins the stool round and round, and finally elicits a giggle from him.

After a few moments, the door opens. "What is it, Pete? Su? Where's your mum?"

Peter suddenly jumps down from the stool, his smile gone. "Father, she says come quickly. It's Edmund."

"He's ill. _Very_ ill."

Her dream changes; it's a few days later, and Edmund has been quarantined in the upstairs guest room. Father is there with him, sending messages out to Mother every hour about Edmund's progress, if he needs a cloth or water or food. Lucy, who had been crying nonstop, has finally cried herself to sleep, clutching the teddy bear Edmund gave her when she was two. Mother picks Lucy up from her curled spot on the floor, taking her to bed.

On the couch, Susan picks at the threads of her pleated skirt, her hair falling into her eyes. She glances at Peter, who's barely spoken a word since Edmund fell ill. He looks so much older than his eight years, and as he stares into the fireplace, she stares at him.

He turns to her, glassy eyed, and then is next to her on the couch. Their knees touch, but he doesn't look at her. She keeps her gaze on him, though, and places her hand on top of his. Tears fall down his cheeks, and it's the first time she's ever seen him really cry. It scares her, but then she remembers all the time she's cried to him and thinks that it's not too bad after all.

"Susan?" he asks.

The grandfather clock ticks. "Yes?" she whispers.

And though his face looks so old, he sounds like such a little boy when he says, "Never get sick. Never get sick."

--

When Susan wakes, she notices that she's no longer lying on top of her sheets and blankets, but underneath them. She is so tightly tucked in that a brief image of a moth in a cocoon springs to her mind.

Her shoes are gone, she notices. She notices, too, that she's been undressed; her day dress is gone, replaced with sleepwear. Then, the garish voices of her siblings reach her, and she wonders how long they have stayed with her, and how long she's been asleep.

Lucy's voice is almost cold. "Nothing else is working. We must go to Aslan."

"And just leave her here? Certainly not."

"Peter, we need to go. Something's wrong with her and the cordial's not helping. No one here knows what's the matter."

"Did you not say, three minutes ago, that you believe it to be appendicitis?"

"I said 'I think', but I could be wrong. Even so, what do you expect to do about it? Operate on her yourself? I hope not, for her sake. Father was the doctor, Peter, not you. You can't do everything."

"Lucy - "

"I've had enough of this," enters Edmund's voice. Susan can imagine him standing between Peter and Lucy, glaring at them. "The two of you are driving me mad, and none of this is helping Susan."

"What do we do?" says Lucy, her voice growing timid.

"We find Aslan."

"Edmund, I'm not leaving Susan - "

"Peter, shut up," says Edmund, and though his voice is firm, it is not harsh. "You can stay here with Susan. Lucy and I will go to Aslan."

Susan forces her eyes open, sees Peter and Edmund staring hardly at one another. Finally, Peter nods his consent and Edmund and Lucy rush out of the room. He stares blankly after them for what seems like ages.

She decides to interrupt his brooding. "I have appendicitis?" she says.

Peter whips around, and sits at the edge of her bed. "Lucy thinks so," he says, sighing. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"You should apologize to her," says Susan. "This is not her fault."

Peter's face tightens.

"It's not as if Lucy forced me out of Cair Paravel anyway. I went of my own volition. I _wanted_ to. So if you're upset about that, you should be upset with me, not her. I directly disobeyed you."

"Why can't you just do as you're told?" laments Peter. "Just like Edmund, you are… perfectly stubborn."

"Well, if this is appendicitis, it doesn't really matter if I was in the castle, does it? It would have come anyway," she points out.

"Always trying to be logical," mutters Peter, looking away from her.

Susan doesn't respond, just sighs and leans back against the pillows. Peter almost seems upset with her. She can see it in his tense jaw line, his red cheeks, and the way he avoids her eyes. If it were anyone else, Susan would be upset. However, this is Peter, and she can read him extremely well.

Whenever he's in a situation that makes him uncomfortable, he becomes defensive, and his worry can sometimes be mistaken for anger. This is one of those times, and Susan knows what he's feeling, knows how he's suffering. Seeing those he loves in danger, or in pain, is one of his greatest fears.

Most people see Peter as the High King, a man at the head of the kingdom, at the head of his family. Susan knows this is true – to an extent, but she also knows that Peter does nothing on his own. She, Edmund, and Lucy are always there to hold him up. They balance him, and he would fall if they weren't by his side.

Susan winces as the hurt swerves through her once more, and leans over, clutching her abdomen. Peter rests a hand on her shoulder, and uses the other hand to tuck her long hair behind her ears. She breathes through the pain, acutely aware of the tears gathering in the corners of her eyelids and the sweat gliding down her skin. When the harsh pangs settle into a strong discomfort, she relaxes somewhat. Peter lets go of her shoulder and reaches for her hand instead. She's almost afraid to glimpse his expression, but she can't stop herself.

His face is tense and desperate, and Susan can see the tears beginning to form in his wide, terrified eyes. Her heart aches for him and she wants to tell him not to cry, but she can't find her voice.

"I don't know what to do," he admits softly. "I don't know… I've always been the one to help you, Su, but I don't know what do. Not this time."

Susan feels her own tears pricking her eyes, and wonders why everyone believes she is the one with the tender heart. That has _always_ been Peter, at least in her eyes. He'd do anything for her, she knows, and the fact that he's shattered over not being able to do anything right now is enough to break her.

"Just you being here is enough," she murmurs. "You being there was always enough."

"You got sick," he sighs. "Why'd you have to get sick?"

She wants to thread her fingers through his hair comfortingly, to shush him and say, 'Everything will be all right.' But she doesn't know if those words are appropriate for right now, if they are what he needs to hear. She's never been good with those words – Peter's always been the one able to convince her of them.

So she reaches out, wipes the tears from his eyes, and says nothing.

--

Hours pass and the night comes, and still Edmund and Lucy have not returned. Peter has taken to pacing around the room and Susan drifts back and forth between consciousnesses. A fever has taken hold of her, and the pain is unbearable now.

"Susan, keep holding on," says Peter, his breath in her ear. Her only response is a loud groan, as he presses a cool cloth to her head, and moves his hands downwards.

He presses lightly against her stomach, and she shakes beneath him. "Your stomach is rigid," he informs her. "I think that means your appendix has burst."

Susan is barely able to hear him, but she finds his hands and squeezes tightly. She can feel the emotions emanating from him; his worry, his frustration, his gentleness. All of it comes off him in waves, and it's almost as overwhelming as the jarring pangs that sweep over her.

Someone raps on the door. "Who is it?" calls Peter.

"It is Tumnus. Can I do anything, Sir? How is Queen Susan?"

"She's fine. Just keep watch for my brother and sister. And Aslan," he adds.

Tumnus' hooves fade down the corridor, and Peter half-glares at Susan. "You're not fine. You're going to have an infection. I swear to Aslan, if you die, I will never forgive you."

She smiles – it is something she would say.

More footsteps sound against the marble halls, and soon the door is banged open, and someone breathes haggardly. "Aslan is here," gasps Edmund. "He's here."

Susan's heart lightens considerably, even through the pain. "Bring him here, then," orders Peter.

Another voice joins them. "Aslan says to bring Susan to the throne room. There is going to be an audience – Aslan has sent Tumnus to gather as many Narnians as he can."

Susan opens her eyes, puzzled. Though Edmund's hair is dripping and he's hunched over, short of breath, Lucy stands tall and gazes at Peter directly.

"_What_?" Peter blurts. "I say, there isn't enough time for all of that."

"Don't you believe Aslan can save Susan?"

"Of course I do, Lu – "

"Then who are you to question Him? It's settled."

She flounces from the room, bristling, and Peter watches her go, mouth agape. Susan inquires of Edmund, "What's wrong with Lucy? Is she quite all right?"

"That's just like you, Su, to be wondering about others when you're in such a state," says Peter, as he grasps her hand and rests it on the back of his neck. She clings to him as he sweeps an arm under her shoulder and the other under her knees. He picks her up swiftly, though the sudden movement causes her even more pain. Still, she worries for Lucy.

"I expect she's upset with me for yelling at her," Peter consoles.

Edmund holds open the door as they leave the room. "Yes, I believe that is part of it," he confirms.

--

They stand in the center of the throne room, and Susan can't stop herself thinking how hot it is. People crowd the room by the dozens, blocking the breezes that normally drift through the corridors. Peter, still holding her, is closer than ever, and while she doesn't mind too much, his warmth does nothing but add to her discomfort. But as she can't very well stand, and can't lie down on the floor, she doesn't have another choice than to be held by her brother. Her fever is worse than ever, spiked up so high that she's surprised she is even conscious.

They have been standing at the center of attention for ages now, and Susan can tell Peter is quite tired himself. The effort of holding her for such a long amount of time seems to have strained his muscles, for his arms are stiff against her, and his grip on her has loosened, if only a little. Her twisting in agony certainly does not helping him to maintain her weight, but she cannot control it.

Susan, trembling, finds herself remembering random things. The first time she cooked by herself, when Father had left and Mother was shut up in her room. Braiding Lucy's hair before their coronation. The look on Edmund's face after he finally managed to out-duel Peter. Mr. Beaver calling her beautiful, contrasted with a girl at school, Margaret was her name, calling her ugly. Being bitten by her brute of a cousin, Eustace. The day she learned to swim.

The images march around in her mind like in a parade, and Susan wonders if this is what it means to have your life flash before your eyes. And she moans internally that her life is not over, so she must stop remembering, and she tries hard to focus on the present, though everything is blurred. Lucy is in front of her, fanning her face, and she would smile if she could. She tries to focus on the coolness of the air as Lucy wafts it about, the roughness of Peter's tunic against her thin nightgown, and Edmund's voice, soothing and clear among the loud whispers of the Narnians.

And then she shivers, for a presence has entered the room, a presence that makes everything and everyone go still. Susan, her heart calmed, ignores the pain she feels, and focuses solely on him.

He stands in all his glory with Tumnus, who carries a folded mat in his hands. It is no ordinary mat, it must be said, but a velvet, bright red one, with gold trim along the edges. Though Susan would ordinarily be taken with its beauty, she is quite entranced with the Lion at the moment, and there is no room for her to be distracted by anything else.

"Lay out the mat you hold," says the Lion, his voice smooth and strong. Susan shivers again, delighted by the sound of it and what it stirs inside her, and she clutches Peter to her even more tightly.

Tumnus does as he is instructed, laying out the mat before the four thrones, and the Narnians look on in awe and anticipation.

"High King Peter, lay Queen Susan down on the mat."

And though Susan can feel Peter's puzzlement, he does what he is told. The feel of the mat on her back is a comfort, so plush underneath her, and she is able to forget about the great audience watching her, about how her state is rather un-queenly, and the raging pain and the writhing she cannot stop.

"High King Peter, I ask now that you leave, along with you, dear one." The Lion looks straight at Lucy and her chin quivers. "There is to be peace between you."

"But Aslan – "

"Go. Your sister will live." And his words are punctuated with a growl, loving and terrifying all at once, causing Peter to stop speaking.

"Must they leave, Aslan?" says Susan, quaking.

Aslan gives her a fierce look, but Peter kneels down next to her. "We'll be right here, Su. We're still here. I'm with you always, dear sister."

Then he presses a kiss on her forehead, and the crowd of Narnians parts, allowing him through. Lucy follows him.

Aslan roars, which makes the ground vibrate and the thrones shake. He looks upon Susan as the Narnians cry out in jubilation and fear. Their gazes hold for a long moment, and in his eyes, Susan can see nothing but love. He breathes on her, and she can feel his spirit pour into her, revitalizing her. Peace – a peace that is more than happiness and contentment, but rests on knowing the great mercy and love of the Lion – overflows into her heart. The agony is gone, and she is healed.

She laughs and throws herself at him, burying her face in his golden mane. The crowd shouts its praises, cheering and singing. But Susan can only hear Aslan's heartbeat, gentle and melodic; he purrs and his breath tickles her ear, and so she laughs even more.

Edmund comes to her side and the smile that lights up his face is so beautiful that she seizes him in a great hug, which he eagerly returns. Susan cries freely into his chest, clings to the brother who knows what it feels like to be saved by the Lion. They sink the floor, cushioned by the velvet mat beneath them, as Aslan roars again.

Through her joy, Peter's kiss still lingers.

--

_He kisses her to heal her._


End file.
